


The Sharpest Lives

by runaway_killjoy



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Catholic Character, Christianity, Homophobia, M/M, Plotty, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runaway_killjoy/pseuds/runaway_killjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As plague rips through the kingdom Gerard and Frank find themselves fatherless, however this means very different things for the two. Historical AU in which Gerard is left to rule the country and Frank is pulled from servitude as they face the world together. But when jealousy causes Gerard's power hungry uncle to take Mikey into his care things get a lot more complicated. Classism and homophobia make a powerful couple, almost as powerful as a king and his true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Should've Been A Better Son

#  **Frank POV**

 

You always remember exactly what you were doing, and listening to and looking at and generally feeling, when you hear that sort of news. I was picking sprouts. I was chewing on oats and I could smell horse shit. Birds were chirping and horses were pulling ploughs through thick, gravelly dirt, driven by my brothers. The kitchen door flies open just as I pull an unnaturally big head from the plant.

     My father had been ill for weeks. A plague has been ripping through the land, getting lords and servants alike. The plague doesn’t see the class lines.  It killed the girl I was betrothed to, our landlord’s wife and my eldest brother’s new born son. No one is safe. My mother throwing herself to the ground outside the cottage tells me that it has now claimed my father’s life too.

     I guess I should be sad. Even just out of respect. But I can’t be. It’s not like I feel joy, I’m not an asshole, I just feel nothing. Maybe the appropriate emotion will hit me later.

     Before I fully register what I’m doing, I’m running toward the fields where my brothers are unknowingly still ploughing. I probably should have stayed and comforted my mother but I think the good sons deserve to know. My eldest brother John sees me vaulting the fence and halts his plough. He calls something to me but the wind whips his words away. I can see Will stop his plough too now, he’s squinting at me with his hands on his hips.

     “You should come to the house,” I yell but the wind steals my voice too. I try again but it’s clear they’re not going to hear me so instead I just flail my arms in an attempt to beacon them.

     I hop back over the fence and start jogging to the house outside of which my mother is now sitting with my sister. “I called down John and Will. It’s father isn’t it?” I say, trying to conceal how out of breath I am. My sister nods, her eyes wet. The most eerie thing is my mother isn’t crying, or speaking, and if it wasn’t for the slight movements of her shawl, I would be unsure if she was breathing.

    “Dr Wall,” my sister, Jane says shakily, “is gone to see if we can’t burry him right away. Old plague is more deadly than fresh.”  
     “I don’t see how,” I say, shifting uncomfortably with the thought of carrying my father’s dead diseased body to a hole in the ground before tea today.

     “That’s because you’re not a physician,” Jane snaps.

     I bite my tongue before I snap back at her. _Inappropriate time Frank_ I tell myself over and over. I can feel my brothers jog up behind me. Will stops at my elbow but John steps forward and drops to his knees in front of my mother. I think he just landed himself in chicken shit but I realise just in time that it might not be appropriate to inform him.  

     “Oh! Mother, I fear the worst from your state!” he wails. What a dramatic little- actually no, he and father had a bond so I guess this is a reasonable reaction. “Pray do tell!”

     My mother just sits staring ahead. “Can’t you see she’s in shock,” Jane hisses. “Our father just died. That’s what happened. The doctors gone to see if we can bury him today and then have a priest cleanse the house.”

     John hangs his head, “I see.”

     We all sit outside the house in silence. The spring air is cold but at least the house breaks the wind. This same fucking plague has been around since before Christmas and we’re all beginning to wonder whether or not it will die out. The priests preach that we have done something wrong and god is punishing us but I don’t see what. Some say all who die were sinners. John’s baby died after only a few days, how much sinning could it fit in in that time.

     The procession of people arrive about an hour later. The doctor bringing in his trail a priest and a lawyer. My mother stands to greet them and silently accepts the condolences. She still hasn’t uttered a word.

     “Your father knew this was coming,” the doctor says gravely. “He had Mr Briggs write up his will.” The lawyer nods his head and pulls a letter from his person. “We will bury your father today, on holy ground. Mass will be said with him in mind on Sunday, too many people are dying from plague to have a funeral for each. We’ll go now, take the letter Mrs Iero, and bury your husband. Father Burke will cleanse the house.” My mother shakily accepts the letter and then has to sit down again.

     I follow the doctor and my brothers in to the house. We’re advised to breathe through our handkerchiefs as we make our way to the body. The doctor wraps him in the sheets he died in. They’re clean enough, thankfully. It would be degrading to everyone to wrap my dad in sheets covered in his shit. We then move him on to a stretcher and carry him out the front door and onto the trap. Well I’m more so following them, touching the stretcher, because my shoulders don’t reach it.

     I follow behind on foot as John drives the doctor and the corpse to the mass grave for the diseased. Will and I walk in my very best attempt at silence. The holy ground isn’t far, and I’m not entirely sure why we’re going. Maybe so we can help the doctor and John throw him into the massive hole reserved for the non-noble dead.

     Sure enough when we catch up with the halted trap we just throw the body in as respectfully as we can. My brothers’ faces are twisted in grief so I pretend as best as I can to be sad.

    

“I know that he didn’t like me but this is unnecessary,” I growl, reading over it again. My family are silent. “Fuck unnecessary, this is cruel!”

     “Frank, bite your tongue,” Jane hisses, “no need to be uncivil.”

     “Me, uncivil? Never! Jane he left me out of the will! In fact he left specific instructions so that I’m basically cut away from the family! I’d rather I was just forgotten in it!”

     “Oh Frank it’s not that bad,” Jane scolds, grabbing the papers from me. Her eyes run across the paper. “It just says that his third son, Frank, is disallowed from living freely on the farm when it’s passed on.”

     “But it’s not like I’m living freely! I do chores.”

     “You _are_ useless on the farm, though,” John whispers.

     “Oh well excuse me for being small,” I hiss.

     “You’re like a child when it comes to field work. You’re too short and skinny to do any of the jobs, Frank. Simple as.”

     I can’t believe this. I can’t rationalise this. My father made it his dying declaration that I can’t live on the farm. And my siblings are sitting there _agreeing._ It’s not like Jane is any more use with farm chores. She’s just as short as I am. “I can’t help being this _short_. Like that’s the only obstruction! It’s his fucking genes that made me, why couldn’t he have added a bit of height to this fucked up concoction of a son!”  
     “Stand outside until you calm down, Frank,” my mother says in a cold tone from behind me. It’s the first time she’s spoken since father was still a breathing lump in the house. “I will speak with you when you calm down, no need to disrespect the dead like that. And it’s my genes too, no need to disrespect me so.”

      I hold back all the things I could say right now. I have no harsh feelings for my mother, so I walk out in a storm of unsaid words.

     I guess I was expecting something like this, but not a direct banishment. I know he’s passing it off as me being a useless member of the workforce family I was born into, but really it’s because he is ashamed. And now he is dead he doesn’t have to be ashamed of his shame. Three years ago, when I was fourteen, he caught me with a boy. He lost it at me, and the other boy. Understandably, I guess, I mean it’s basically unheard of. I sigh and kick the dirt. I guess, in retrospect, the fact that he didn’t kick me out or hang me that very day was a blessing.

     When my mother comes out to me I’m sitting on the pile of turf, slowly picking bark off a stick. “Frank,” she says, her voice still disturbingly calm and cold considering she just came out of shock. “You can’t blame your father, you were a difficult son to have when he could keep you under rein. Now he is gone you can’t be watched.” I try to interject but she scowls and carries on. “Let me finish, Frank. I have connections to the palace you know. I bet they’re low on staff because of the plague and you’re not sick, so I’ll write you a letter to give in there. Get it to the king’s Marshall.” I had forgotten my mother breastfed the younger prince. I guess I’d kind of blocked that fact out. “Okay, Frank? Now don’t look so sad, you can go in the morning. I’m sure people are going to the capital, and if not, it’s only a day’s walk. Don’t be sad, there’s only room now to be sad for your father and we all know you’re not.”


	2. He's Not Dead He Only Looks That Way

POV: Gerard

 

The wind is battering the shutters as I pace back and forth in front of the door to my father’s bedchamber. He became unresponsive as of last night. This goddam plague, I swear it will fucking kill us all. I stop pacing for a moment to look at my brother. Mikey is just as anxious as me but it doesn’t show as blatantly on him. I can’t tell if I express emotion too much, or he expresses it too little. Probably both.

     I wring my hands and start pacing again. This isn’t fair, he can’t die. He can’t fucking leave me with a kingdom. I was literally only beginning to sit in on parliament and now I’m going to have to run it. I don’t mean to sound selfish but I need this man to stay alive, as a king more than as a father.

    “Gerard, will you sit down,” Mikey sighs, staring straight ahead.

    “I’m okay. I prefer to pace.”

    “You’re nauseating me.”

    “Sorry,” I stop pacing and stare at the fire for a minute. We have two knights posted outside this anti-chamber’s door to keep away all the curious nobility and servants. I can hear hushed whispers now there’s no pacing. It’s frustrating being able to hear people talking but not knowing what they’re saying. I begin pacing again to drown it out.

     The main doors fly open and in scuttles a short man with a velvet cap covering his head. Before I complain, the short man takes off his hat and drops to his knees, “Get up Patrick,” I say as soon as I realise. “It’s okay.” The doors slam shut again. “Well it’s not really. Thank you for coming.”

     “I came as fast as I could but I wasn’t close by,” he explains. He looks exhausted and I wonder if he ran here from wherever he was.

     “Sit down,” I say before continuing my pacing. There’s no servants in the room so Patrick helps himself to wine.

     “Is there any news?” he asks carefully.

     “If you mean if he has died, then no, he’s not dead. Yet.” My pacing is getting faster and I’m getting tired. “He also hasn’t woken up, if you’re a blind optimist like some. And he probably won’t.”

     Patrick pouts and looks into the fire. Patrick is the Earl of Oirthear. His father was adviser to my father before he died, and now Patrick is trying to fill those shoes. His father was an exceptional knight and battle strategist known to some as _The Giant of East_. Patrick is five foot three and last week I saw him perform a funeral for a moth in the rose gardens. He is kind and soft and nothing like his father, whether or not that’s a good thing I can’t yet tell.

     There is a rumbling and scuffling behind the doors into my father’s private chamber. Behind me Patrick and Mikey spring to their feet as we turn to stare at the door. I can hear the doctor shout something incoherent and then the sound of metal hitting off wood. When no movement comes from the door after a while, Patrick and Mikey sit again and I take off pacing.

     It’s another two hours before the large mahogany doors are opened. Dr Dickson storms out of the room and runs to the windows. “Forgive me your highnesses, fresh air needs to circulate.” He throws open the shutters sending the gusting winds inwards. Candles blow out and the window on the opposite end flies open revealing the velvet black of night. The wind flies through at a terrifying strength and the fire flickers so much I’m sure it will go out.

     “It’s gale force out,” I hiss, ducking out of the cross flow. “I think you just broke off the shutters.” The doctor ignores me and rushes back into the room. This worries me.

     A foul smell is carried across from the closing of the door. I turn to face my brother and Patrick whose noses are scrunched up. They can smell it too. It’s not the smell of recovery. It’s not even the smell of sickness.

     “It smells like death,” Mikey nervously voices what we were all thinking.

 

A knock on the door makes me close my eyes. That knock means it’s morning and I haven’t slept yet. The door opens and I roll away from it. I can hear the hesitation of my morning caller, that’s unusual.

     “Um, your highness… It is morning.” He finally says.

     “So it seems,” I hiss from under the covers.

     The boy hesitates more. Then, “The council is called for an hours’ time… and… your breakfast is on its way.”

     “Okay,” I groan. “Thanks.”

     “My p-pleasure, your majesty,” he says. His voice is echoed by the sound of scuttling feet. I wonder who that was. I get a new caller almost every day. I can’t believe it but I miss that old guy who insisted on being called Dick, even though his name was Robert. He was loud and slow and a bit of a dick, and I really have no idea how he got to be my personal chamber man, but at least he said what needed to be said.

     But like a lot of our older staff he got the plague and was sent on his way with a pocket of gold and a “come back when you’re not diseased”. Of course now he’s more than likely dead.

     I haul myself out of bed. I’ve gotten used to not being around loads of servants all the time in the mornings. Most of them excused themselves to go home and take care of their dying relatives, or left because they were dying. This plague is the worst we’ve ever seen and as soon as we release the fact that the king died of it to the commons there will be mayhem and an awful lot of praying.

     I’m not looking forward to it. Kings are just people, like everyone else, yet if a king dies it’s a much worse thing. It’s a signal that there is no hope. Why did he have to catch the damn plague and up and die last night, just like all the others?

     I dress in my tight black three piece. Everyone will be wearing black in mourning and for the first time it will look like I’m part of court’s trends; and that I like my father.

     The servants arrive with my breakfast and Earl Patrick. He seems fully awake and alert, and like he’s been dressed and clean for the past three hours. I haven’t even wiped the sleep from my eyes yet. “I hope you don’t mind that I break fast with you?” He asks timidly.

     “Not at all, what’re we having?”

     “I think it’s eggs.”

     “Again, great. Oh, what’s your name?” I ask the serving boy. He looks a bit shocked and doesn’t reply. He was probably told to never talk to me or anyone who doesn’t have an apron, really. “Okay… would you go to the kitchens and ask for some of that coffee, and some for the Earl too.”  
     When the boy runs off Patrick turns to me, “what’s that… coffee?”

     “I don’t know, they brought it back on the ships, but it’s really nice. It’s black and bitter like my personality.” Patrick stares at me confused. “That was a joke but it’s not that funny so don’t worry about it…” And with that charming icebreaker, we eat.

     We’re almost finished by the time the boy comes running up to us with a lidded pot and to cups. He almost drops the pot on the table and I realise as he backs away that his hands are red and burned. “Oh god your hands!” I gasp and he looks ashamedly away. “I don’t want you carrying anything hot anymore without a cloth or something! Tell your master I said that.”

     The boy nods and then backs slowly out of the room. “That was very nice of you, your highness,” Patrick comments.

     “Did you see his hands? They were red raw! Why would anyone send a kid off with a boiling pot in his bare hands? That’s just cruel.”

     After our coffee, which he doesn’t like as much as he pretended, Patrick and I walk through the halls toward the council chambers in the eerie silence of the palace. I may be getting used to not being surrounded all the time in my own bedchamber, but the lack of people in the halls and antechambers is weird. Most of the Lords have gone home to try and deal with the plague epidemic in their own regions. I’ve never seen the place so under-attended.

     Half the council isn’t present due to various reasons. Knights read statements from some regarding their lack of presence. “I regret to inform you that plague has taken the life of my own son and I am incapable of leaving my mourning wife”, “I regret to announce that the journey is too great and I am gravely ill”, “I shall be incapable of attending any calls to council as many of the men in my charge have passed away and…” the letters continue on and on.

      When they have all been read, I push back my seat and stand up. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m about to do the thing my father always did. The thing that even though I was present for, always dozed off in a fit of boredom and have no recollection of what it sounded like. I’m about to do the thing, and I don’t want to. “My lords,” I start. My voice almost breaks like a teenage boy’s. I’m nineteen years old, that shouldn’t happen anymore. Oh great Gerard your proving straight away you’re too young to rule. Thank you father for dying and leaving this child to tell people what to do… Fuck sake Gerard, now you’re standing there in silence while you’re thinking all this, what are you trying to do, add some dramatic affect to your already boring speech. “As you all know, my father, the king, as passed away.” I pause for the empty “God rest his soul” everyone seems to mutter. “I called this meeting today,” well really Patrick did, “because we need to figure out where we as a kingdom go from here.” I’m literally quoting Patrick directly right now. “Unfortunately, what we thought was a single problem has now branched out into a series of epidemics, and frankly it may get worse. This disease is affecting many and it has yet to be cured. I am afraid even to disclose to the commons that their king is dead because it will terrify them further to know that even a great ruler can fall ill with this. Soon there will be so few working on farms that people will go hungry, then more will die. We need to face this situation now.”

     I draw a shaky breath. Everyone is staring at me and Mikey is nodding at me to continue. “We will spread the news today that my father is dead, the burial will be this afternoon. The physicians say that old plague is more infectious or something… They also say that the survival rate is one in twenty and that’s not good enough odds.

     “The next issue is how understaffed we are. Many of the courtiers have returned to look after their own people. Not just that but I had a child serve me breakfast today? It’s not safe to have a lot of children as staff, it’s hard work and this boy couldn’t have been more than eight. We also need to send home anyone with the slightest show of plague in case more people get infected. We have a tragic lack of quarantine. I will have my chaplains write letters to the remainder of the council telling them this. I’ll also have them declare that my father is dead. We can discuss matters of my, uh, gaining the throne at a later date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from the song Boy Division)  
> Hi guys ^~^ So a few words I've used and will be using (for place names mainly) are Irish words, and for those out of Ireland pronunciation is probably a bit weird so heres a phonetic key... Oirthear: ur-her// Iarthar: ear-her// Tuaisceart: too-ish-k-yea-art (i never realised until now how weird that word is)// Deisceart- desh-k-yea-art. I'll give another key if needs be as i go.  
> Okay... so I hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you think either way and i'll try update soon! <3


	3. Heaven Help Us Now

POV: Frank

 

In my entire life I’ve been inside the capital’s gates six times, and each time was wildly different. And yet never has it been as quiet as it is now. I’m told at the gate that a quarantine order was issued by the prince and that the king had died. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that that took me by surprise. There was so few people on the streets and those that were, were begging god for forgiveness and to lift the plague. Every now and again there would be someone kneeling in the gutter wailing about their child’s premature ascent to heaven. It’s amazing that religion has survived through the epidemic when so many had died.

    There are crosses hanging on the doors of most buildings and I take it that those are the houses of the infected. The whole city has slowed completely and that is fucking terrifying. I follow the main road toward the castle.

     There’s a cart full of barrels stopped at the main gate as knights search it. I walk up to one nervously. “I beg your pardon Sir,” I say and he turns and looks down at me. Why did I have to choose the tallest, I must look like a child beside him. “I am here to see the king’s Marshall, I have a letter for him.” What am I doing I could just ask about work, what if they ask me who the letter is from, if I lie I might be caught, if I don’t they’ll laugh…

     “May I see the letter, boy,” he says gruffly. I show him the outside but hold on when he tries to take it in his hands.

     “I see, you may go through.”

     “Where might I find him though?”                                   

     The knight raises his eyebrows at me. I wonder if I said something wrong. “Are you not a messenger?” I shake my head. “Oh, well he’s in the gate, past the stables there’s a door by the well. Go in and up the stairs, the flight ends at his offices.”

     “Thank you Sir,” he grunts and I run in the gate just as they wave the cart clear. I find the stables easy enough, I mean they’re quite obvious, but it takes a while for me to find the right door. There is one that leads into a forge, no stairs there. Another leads to a store of hay. Another to a store of grains.

     When I enter the correct door I walk straight into a woman in a plain black cloth dress running full force down the stairs. She looks at me confusedly before silently running along again. I make my way up, jumping out of the way of all the women who are running down with baskets containing various items. I’ve probably seen more people on this stairwell than were in my village. I might be exaggerating a little but _still._

     I knock on the Marshall’s door. It opens at my touch and I stand back as it slowly creaks inwards. “You may come in.”

    “Marshall Jacobs?” I ask timidly as I step in. The man sitting at a paper covered desk looks to be closer to my age than my mother’s. He could only be a year or two older. I must be in the wrong place.

     “Marshall Jacobs died two weeks ago.” Oh. “I am Marshall Dun. May I help you?”

     “Um, yes. This is a letter from my mother, she was wet nurse to the younger prince, she was appointed by Marshall Jacobs and she was inquiring if there was a position for myself…”

     “Well,” he says taking the letter, “you came at frankly the right time. Everyone is dying and we are understaffed. Can you start today?”

     Well that’s fortunate I guess. Well fortunate for me, not for the people who are dying. “Yes, I can start right now. In what position?”

     The Marshal has small eyes and a curly mop of hair that seems to be tinted an unnatural red. It’s probably just the light and my temperamental eyesight. He’s wearing cloth of green wool that doesn’t look as fine as I would have expected someone like him to wear. He looks down at his desk and starts rummaging through papers. “Aha,” he says before reading one. “Oh well it seems the two places we are in most need of staff, that aren’t children, is in the stables and personal service.” He looks over the sheet at me, “What age are you?”

     “Seventeen.”

     “You’re a bit small.”

     “So I’ve been told.”

     “Are you from a farming background?”

     “Yes.”

     “Do you work well with horses?”

     “No not really… I mean I can! But I’m quite poor with them…” I’m getting nervous now. What if they don’t take me on the grounds that I’m shit with horses?

     He frowns. “You seem a little small anyway… I’ll put you in personal service then I guess… I can move some of the younger ones there into the stables… That’s five silver pieces a week as well as room and board.” He pauses and I thank him. I’m guessing that’s what he was expecting. “Do you have other clothes? No? Okay here, wear these anyway.” He hands me plain black crested garments. “I hope you don’t mind they’re fitted for a child. Now run down to kitchens, down that hall and down the first stairs you come to then you’ll probably hear or smell it. Tell the chef you’re new and to be serving. Then change your clothes and get to it.”

     “Um, sorry Sir I have one question.”

     “Yes?”

     “Where will I be sleeping?”

     “Ah. Probably on a pallet on the kitchen floor.”

     I nod. What more could I expect I guess. I thank him and leave, making my way down the hall in search of the kitchens. The halls are dark and gloomy. The walls are windowless and made of rough grey stone, dotted with heavy wood doors in no particular order. The passage is only illuminated every few feet by a torch. People pass me, mainly in the same black crested outfit, but some knights in chain mail too. Some of the younger boys give me weird looks and some others stare for an uncomfortably long time. I think it’s because I’m new. Well I really hope it’s because I’m new.

     I find the kitchen weirdly easy. Everyone is shouting over the clanging of pots. One man with huge curly hair runs past me carrying a large cauldron. When he sets it down he runs back to me. “Are you knew?” I nod. “Hi! My name is Ray Toro, I run the kitchens, go change over there where the pallets are and come back and I’ll give you food.”

     Everything happens so fast and I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. I change my clothes and next thing I know I’m carrying a tray of food to the Earl of Oirthear as he dines with the prince in the prince’s own chambers. I’m under the orders to follow the lead of the other server who grunts his name but I can’t hear him. Terrified I follow him up a series of stairs and down labyrinths of halls. The heat of the platters on the tray begins to burn through to my hands. I shift them slightly wincing as we come to the end of a greatly decorated corridor. The other server turns to me and quickly whispers, “Put the tray in front of the Earl and then stand back against the wall. Watch me. The prince gets his first.” And then he turns around and walks swiftly again.

     A knight opens the heavy wooden doors and looking down I follow the other server in. This will be my first ever glimpse at royalty. The man I see is short, about the same height as me, and is wearing a hat. He is dressed in deep blue velvet, expensive and probably regally sewn by angels or something. I don’t see what’s so specifically magnificent about him. I don’t know if I expected him to glow or something. I assumed that when you see a prince you’d know. And then I see that the first server does not serve him, but the man opposite dressed purely in black. Oh. I put the tray in front of the blue clad Earl and bow with the other server. They nod and we stand by the wall.

     We’re obviously supposed to keep our eyes to the ground but I can’t help it. This is the first time I’ve ever seen royalty. The prince certainly has something about his face you don’t see in common men. Unexpectedly, the two of status start talking as if we weren’t there.

     “Like I said, your highness, it _is_ inevitable,” the Earl sighs. “I know you don’t feel ready but you have help. I’m sure your uncle…”

     “Oh yea, I’m sure Deisceart would be delighted to have me beg him to rule the country for me,” the prince growls before sighing. “We don’t see eye to eye. Probably because his head is so far up his own ass.” I try not to look as if I’m not listening but I feel the need to grin. The other server steps forward and begins to pour wine.

      Around him I see that the Earl looks nervous, “I didn’t mean offense…”

     “I know, sorry.” I could only see half the princes face, less now that he’s rubbing his temples. “But you’re right I have people…”

     “I’d suggest setting up a privy council. Of lords or knights or bishops you trust to help you lead, aside from Parliament.”

     “I don’t know many of the Lords well. I spoke to them at feasts but they usually spoke to my father.”

     “There doesn’t have to be many.”

     “Who would you suggest Patrick?”

     “Archbishop Joseph. Tyler Joseph, he’s been newly appointed?”

     “Archbishop Taylor died? Of the plague I presume.”

     “Indeed. Joseph is the best possible replacement.”

     “I’ll take your word. Who else?” They’re eating so slowly. Probably because they’re talking as well. I’m surprised they so openly talk about this kind of shit in front of myself and the other server. I guess they don’t care about what we hear, we’re not important, and there’s no war so who could we spy for. Well there is a war of sorts, and we’re losing it, but it’s not to any one man or country.

      “Lord Wentz of Iarthar? Sir Trohman?”

      “I like Wentz and Trohman,” the prince nods. “I want Hurley too. And my Marshal.”

      “The new one?”

      “Yes, he’s very trust worthy. Appointed him myself. So them, you and Mikey.”

      “Your brother?”

      “Yes, why?”

      “I don’t recognise him by that name, I beg your pardon.”

      “Oh right, yea. Prince Michael, Mikey, whatever. You can call him that too I guess.” The Earl blushes and they pause to eat for a moment. Their food smells so nice and I haven’t eaten since I left my house at six am. I also haven’t really rested. Some food and a nap would be so perfect right now. “Will I write to these men then?” The Earl says after a moment.

     The prince nods, swallowing. “If you would be so kind. Most are in the castle at the moment anyway. We’ll have to send for Wentz, I think. And the Archbishop.”

     “They’re trying to sit out the plague from their own homes.”  
     “Understandable. We might even just leave them there. I don’t think we can afford to let too many more just fucking die. You know what, never mind, I think I’d like to talk to the new Archbishop.”

      “Whatever you say, your highness.”  
      The prince grunts a reply and then turns to us. For a second I glimpse his face full on before looking down. I can see his expression change but I don’t know what to. “We’re finished eating now,” he says before turning back to the Earl.

     The other server springs to action, clearing away the platters and trenchers onto the tray. There is half a chicken left over between the two and it makes my stomach rumble loudly as I clear the Earl’s plates. The prince’s eyebrows shoot up at me and his mouth twists into an almost smirk. I keep my head down, blushing.

     Before we leave the prince calls over his shoulder to us, “the Earl wants me to make sure you both get enough to eat tonight, so you don’t sound so starving.” He turns back to the Earl who nods at him.

     The other shakes his head at him in a stairwell. “I’m sorry but it’s not really under my control!” I protest. He shakes his head again and we descend into the kitchens.

 

My pallet of straw is shoved up against the cold stone wall. They obviously hadn’t planned on me coming and just kind of put it there. It’s itchy and hard but better than the cold stone floor, I guess. I got a bowl of soup that had bits of chicken in it. The chef I’d met, Ray, told me I could have some burnt bread with it if I wanted. I agreed and was surprised to see that the bread was only a darker shade of brown than they’d have liked. Honestly, if they’d served that to the prince I’m sure he wouldn’t have noticed, or cared.

     Surprisingly, I don’t fall asleep as soon as I hit the pallet. I’ve been awake and on my feet about nineteen hours and yet my head races and refuses to slow down.

     I never thought I’d be here. I never thought I’d be kicked out of my house. I never thought I’d be sent to the castle. I never thought I’d be in the same room as royalty, let alone listen to his private conversations.

     I assume I fall asleep at some point but I don’t dream. It was like I closed my eyes for at one point and then suddenly I’m being shook awake. “You need to come with me to wait on the prince,” the server I was with yesterday whispered. I have ten minutes to dress and neaten my hair before I have to follow him up the several flights of stairs and begin another day on my feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapeter title from the song "Heaven Help Us")  
> Hi ya'll. Thank you for reading!! I know it's probably an odd thing to read because the language is not really in relation to the time. I think if i did write in more medieval language it wouldn't really sound like them. Anyway, i hope it works. Please let me know what you think and i'll try and update soon, xo


	4. I Wouldn't Front The Scene If You Paid Me

POV: Gerard

 

I’m woken pointlessly early again today. It’s not like I have much to do except talk to council members and pretend I know how to fix the country. I didn’t see who woke me this morning because it was still fucking dark. Once I’m dressed and freshened I walk into my antechamber where Patrick is reading a long scroll of paper by the sunrise’s pink light.

     “Did you get me up this morning?” I ask groggily as I walk over to my chair across from him. There is a servant in the room, a boy, tending the fire. He seems to burn himself on it. “Oh for the love of- I thought I told them not to be giving jobs with hot things to children!”

     The boy turns around and, oh, well he’s not exactly a child. I nod at him and he looks away before finishing with the fire. “What’s your name?” I ask before he scuttles off.

     “Frank,” he says, meeting my eye. It always makes me uncomfortable when people talk to me and look at their feet so this at least is an improvement.

     “And how old are you?”

     “Seventeen.”

     “Well, you’re not a child at all then, so I guess you can deal with the heat. Will you run to the kitchens and tell them I’m awake, and would really love bacon. And eggs. And coffee.” Another servant has just appeared behind him and is now bowing.

     “Yes, your highness,” the one called Frank mutters before running from the room. The other servant walks into my private chambers. He must be on piss pot duty, as well as making the bed and things. It’s probably the worst job I know about.

      “Will we call the privy meeting to here after you break your fast?” Patrick asks, pulling me back into the reality of the moment.

      “Now? It’s like seven am?”

      “It’s more like eight. And will be nine by the time we call them all together,” he adjusts the position of his hat on his head. “Besides, you’ll be free for the afternoon then, and we can sort out all the serious things.”

     I groan loud and long. Then I sit up straight, “Okay sure. Sorry it’s early and I just realise how much of a spoilt asshole I sound like. I think your idea is good and right and we should have some servants bring in more chairs so we can all sit around.”

     Patrick smiles and nods, “indeed, though this room is small, the sooner we move you into your father’s chambers, the better it’ll be to host council meetings.” I must make a grimace of some sort because he begins apologising and cursing his inconsideration.

     “It’s okay Patrick. Don’t worry, I know I’ll have to move in to there. Just like I know I have to get coronated, and I know I have to get rid of the plague somehow. But I found this thing that is much more fun and easy, it’s called _procrastination._ ” I begin to tap the table in no particular rhythm.

      Patrick frowns but doesn’t say anything. We sit quietly until the servant arrives with a pot of coffee and a platter of breakfast. I turn to him, “Thanks, Frank? Will you go get about five stools from the parliament room and bring them in here?” I ask. He nods and walks out silently.

     The breakfast doesn’t last long and I had no idea how hungry I was. Patrick sends people off in search of the members as we quickly revise what we want to discuss. Patrick has a long list of things and I have to cross half of them off to put to the full parliament. There I go, putting things off. At least this time I have a vaguely good reason other than “I don’t want to right now.”

     The servant comes back with the sixth chair. “That’s plenty,” I say waving my hand at them. Stay and pour the drinks when everyone arrives won’t you?”

     The servant, Frank, nods and disappears into the shadows against the walls. He seems new but it’s always hard to tell with Josh changing people’s positions the whole time. Since we’ve lost so much staff, my marshal is trying to run the palace on as little people as we have, as effectively as we can. I look up as the doors open revealing the marshal, the first to arrive. I would say speak of the devil but it would sound weird because no one heard my internal dialogue babble about him.

     He walks up to me and bows before I pull him up into a hug. He was always quite low in status compared to myself and Mikey but he was one of the few children around to play with us. “Sit down, Josh. We have an awful lot to discuss today, with the others too though. Do you know Patrick?”

     “Earl Stump,” he bows, “hi.”

     “Hello,” Patrick smiles. The servant appears from the corner and places a stool beside the table. My table isn’t that long so most of the others will have to squish. I move my chair, the largest and nicest here, to the head of the table.

     One by one my lords and knights begin to enter the room. First is Lord Wentz who bows and then plonks himself on a stool before telling a tale about the things that happened on his way to the chamber. Sometimes I wonder how so much can happen to this man as he moves from room to room, clearly it’s just luck. Next comes Mikey, who walks in and complains about how early it is. He’s even brought a servant from his breakfast to pour him coffee every time his cup begins to look empty. I need someone like that. Sirs Trohman and Hurley walk in together seemingly deep in discussion but were only really talking about types of wool. I don’t know why, I don’t think anyone will ever know why. I don’t think anyone will ever want to know why. Wentz mumbles something about how they are such naturally philosophical beings and Josh nods along. And then Mikey quotes something and I find I’m not really listening to what they have to say. I catch myself staring at the wall, in the space where the servant Frank was seconds before he started moving chairs in for our new guests. I tell myself I’m just tired and that I should maybe start sleeping in the night rather than regretting every morning I wake.

     The last to make it to my chamber is the new archbishop, Tyler Joseph. This is the first time I’ve met him since he was appointed. Of course I watched as he buried my father but left before he made it to me with condolences. I hope he doesn’t think I’m an asshole now.

     He bows to me and I invite him to stand and take the last seat which is at the foot of the table facing me. “I’m sorry I’m late, I was a little out of the way.” He looks tired and rushed. I bet he wasn’t even awake. I don’t blame him. In fact that makes me like him more.

    “It’s alright,” I smile weakly, “we’re all here now. Thanks for coming and welcome to the Privy Council, the smaller parliament thing… You’re here to advise me if you’re up for that. You don’t have to though.” They all mumble something about how it would be an honour, except for Mikey who just grunts and nods. The servant pours him more coffee.

     “Okay Patrick, Earl, read out what’s up for advising today.” I allow my brain to relax a bit. I notice Frank at my elbow pouring me coffee. I mumble my appreciation before knocking some back.

     “First of all is the matter of the coronation. Next is the quarantining of the city. And finally is the matter the public,” Patrick reads nervously. I don’t know why he’s nervous, does he think I’ll give out or something?

     “What’s the matter with the public?” Wentz asks cheerfully.

     “What Pete? Other than the fact that they’re all dying?” Mikey mumbles.

     “Oh, well, right.” Pete looks at his hands.

     “That’s the last issue for today,” Patrick says, looking across at Pete. “We’ll get to that in a minute.”

     “Yes because first of all we need to talk about the fact that my father died and now I have to replace him. I have to be ordained to do that.” I purse my lips as everyone looks at me. “And I know we’d usually throw a party but now’s not really an appropriate time, in my opinion.”

     “I think you’re right,” the archbishop speaks up, “it’s a national time of mourning and I know the commons would take poorly to a lot of… celebrations.”

     “Um, my lords, in looking at the funds alone, we couldn’t throw a big party anyway,” Josh mumbles.

     “Wait, who’s even master of coin?” I ask, confused.

     “Dead. It was my cousin,” Trohman sighs.

     “So who’s been handling that?”

     “I have,” Josh says. This is all really poorly run, what the fuck. Josh has enough to do without literally running the finances as well. I tell him as much. “It’s fine, your majesty. They all tie in anyway.”

     I put my head in my hands, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, “and what’s the funds telling us we can do.”

     “Very little. We’re kinda lucky I guess not to have a war… because we couldn’t afford to buy enough boots for all our soldiers.”

      All around the table people sigh and groan and Pete says something about bananas and canvas and I can’t think of a reasonable reason why so I just assume I’ve misheard him wildly.

     “Okay yea this isn’t good. Why does the crown suddenly have no money Josh?” I ask rubbing my temples now.

     “Well it’s not sudden. We have enough regular income keeping us afloat so I didn’t say anything to you. Your father knew. There wasn’t anything too bad, like.”

     “But now my dad died and we have to pay to put his body underground and my ass under the crown. Okay, coronation is unavoidable. We have about two weeks before the foreign powers will be wondering if I’ve died too and decide to wage war while they can, and that’s something we definitely can’t afford. So, we’ll have the smallest imaginable feast.”

     “But why still have a feast at all?” Mikey asks with a frown.

     “Because if he says he’s having a feast the lords will come and well they all need to pledge allegiance and we might get gifts.” Patrick explains. “Gifts of gold would be specifically helpful.”

     Everyone nods understanding. I’m glad Patrick is always there to help me convincingly pass along his ideas. I know he’s rather I used them as my own but I don’t really understand enough to answer questions.

     “I think the church could maybe help fund the coronation itself,” the Archbishop offers. I have no idea how much these things cost so I agree to let him cover that.

 

After two and a half painful hours of discussion I have finally been advised enough on the first issue. I split us up after that because I don’t think I could take another four hours of advice. With their help, I have decided I will be crowned in nine days’ time. The church will help pay for the actual expense. We will eat basically bread and water until then so we can have a measly two course feast. We have invited everyone of noble status which means the castle will be filling slowly, and probably all their town houses too, and the city’s rations will be slowly drained.

     And, of course, it means I’ve had to invite my uncle. He better give a large amount of gold to congratulate me on being king. I would not be surprised if I slapped me instead. “Oh Gerard, take this beating as a token of sentimentality,” he would probably say. “Now that you are king, I bet you’d love me to bow as I break your nose with your own crown.”

     I shake myself out of this nightmare thought and try focus on the day ahead of me. I’ve decided to play croquet in the rain with my brother to take my mind off things. The ground is slippy and I fall twice making my way around. “Get off your royal ass,” Mikey shouts each time, laughing each time. I “accidentally” hit him with my mallet and he “accidentally” hits me with his and before I know it he’s running full force into me and knocking me to the wet ground.

     Patrick and Pete apparently spot us from Patrick’s rooms in the tower overlooking the gardens, and they run down to us to make sure we’re okay. When they reach us I’m coughing out rose petals and Mikey is laughing his royal ass off. Pete helps Mikey up and Patrick helps me before escorting us back into the palace. I don’t even realise how thoroughly soaked I am until Patrick tells me to go change my clothes and suddenly I’m walking the dark halls to my room with icy cloths stuck to my skin. I have promised Mikey a rematch as soon as we get a day that’s equally rainy and miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Thank you for the Venom")  
> Sorry these chapters are taking me so long, I'm incredibly busy considering I'm doing basically nothing. Anyway i should update again soon, i hope. Please let me know what you think, and have a good week!


	5. They Can Fix Me Proper With A Bit Of Luck

POV: Gerard

 

First came some local knights and relatives of those already here. I didn’t even notice because I wasn’t putting them up in the palace. Before I knew what was happening people were running to me from the Marshall’s office talking about the stress the city is under to house all these people while loads of parts are out of bounds due to the plague. I know it’s a bit of a dick move, but I redirect them all to Patrick. The quarantining is of his design so he’d be better at answering questions on it. That and I’m getting stressed over everything already.

     Next came all the food. No one was anticipating the amount of gifts the commons were sending. Once they heard about the coronation they took to the roads with barrels of wine, wheels of cheese, meats, and a weird amount of broccoli. I feel sorry for Josh and his clerks who have to inventory everything and try argue with the cooks about the size of the meals.

     I feel like if I hadn’t ordered strict quarantine, I’d like to have the fountains flowing with wine. Unfortunately, a lot of people aren’t allowed leave their four walls so it would be a lot of wine for the footmen who followed knights here.

     Five days before the coronation and I start to feel the nerves. I’m also never alone. I try to walk around the gardens in my frustration but I usually have about ten men following me and maybe about fifty women. I guess now I’m about to be king I suddenly look hotter. That, and every knight and lord has brought his daughter to try and get me to marry them.

     They all talk about things that are probably important and I try to act like I give a shit about everything said to me, but with every word I feel more queasy and scared.

     Four days before the coronation and the streets were packed with people from the four corners of the land, ready and waiting to see a crown be put on my head by Tyler.

      Three days before and my uncle arrives. In front of everyone he acts sickeningly sweet and pleasant. But anytime we have less than two people in our company he is as venomous as I remember. He’s like a viper or something. One that can spit acid and has a venomous bite.

     “And you built yourself another little council did you?” he asked as I dine with him and Patrick. “And you didn’t invite me. Interesting.”

     “You live in the south, it would have been too difficult to get you here in time for discussions, ones that had to happen immediately,” I explain as calmly as I can. This feels believable.

      Of course, he doesn’t believe it. Instead he scowls at me, “You know I would have made my way here for a royal summons. You’re only a boy and your council is full of children, how do you plan on leading the kingdom. Your father would have wanted you to be advised by men.”

     “The average age of the privy council is twenty seven, My Lord,” Patrick says, his brow furrowed. I guess he doesn’t like being called a child. I wonder if he gets called one often. I’ll make a point of never calling him young, even though he is only twenty. Maybe it’s because he’s small. I shake my head back to reality where my uncle is beginning to purse his lips.

     He rolls his eyes, “you should concentrate on filling the very big shoes left for you, and leave the maths to the academics.”

      Patrick looks distressed. He doesn’t realise that no matter what he says my uncle will find a way to degrade him. By the end of our meal it’s a miracle that neither Patrick nor I are crying.

      Two days and the whole city is under serious stress to actually feed all the new people, regularly. It’s also a Sunday and the masses are being held in the four main squares for the commons while those of any status at all have managed to procure all the churches. And frankly there are a lot.

     The sun is setting now beyond the windows. My bones ache even though I’ve barely moved and my head hurts from arguing daily with my uncle.

     I’m sitting in my plush chair in my room. It’s the last night I’m able to call it that because after the coronation tomorrow I’m being moved into the room where my father died. Into the bed where his corpse lay for two hours, rotting into the feather duvet.

      I can’t believe I’m going to be a fucking king.

      I can’t believe I’m going to rule a country.

      I can’t believe my father is dead.

      I can’t believe any of this.

      Behind me I can hear servants run in and out with pails of hot water, filling my bath. The bath itself is a massive bronze bowl I get to stew in while a servant scrubs my back with something rough. When we were younger, Mikey and I used to share the same bath, this same bath. Looking over at it now the memory weirds me out. How was I ever that small? How was _Mikey_ ever that small?

     The three servants that were filling the bath are now standing over it arguing silently. When they spot me looking they all bow. “Hey,” I say trying to catch their attention. I hate how they never look me in the eye, I always feel like I’m talking to myself. “That’s enough water for now. I’ll get in I guess, one of you stay to assist, one of you get more water for me to rinse with.”

      The two on both sides turn and walk away immediately, leaving the other, smaller one standing uncomfortably by the bath. I begin unbuttoning my shirt and then pull it over my head. The servant blushes and looks away. A shy one, how helpful. “You’re new then I take it,” I mutter, pulling my shoes off. He nods. “Okay well, you can swap with someone else if you want. What’s your name again?”

     He straightens up and meets my eye. Oh, I remember this one. “My name is Frank, your highness.”

     I nod and pull off pants and I watch as Frank’s eyes stare at everything except me. He’s blushing and it’s making me want to go red too. But I won’t because I’m about to be a king. And kings can’t be as bashful as I want to be. I stride over to the bath and step in, slowly lowering myself into the boiling waters. I hiss as I sit my torso in. Why must it be so hot, I’m not a fucking lobster. Frank stifles a laugh and I realise I said that out loud.

     I settle into the water before extending my arm towards Frank. He looks at it for a minute before realising I want him to wash it. He’s definitely new. Very new. He kneels beside the tub and with a rough wash cloth, scrubs my arms and back. I wash my own lower regions while Frank stares out the window awkwardly. His side profile is quite striking, with a jawline better than most of the servants and Lords. Just as I think that his cheeks go pink and I worry for a minute whether or not I actually said that out loud. I don’t think I did because he doesn’t say anything but I look away from him anyway. I’ve really got to work on the filter between thoughts and speech because I’m really going to weird someone out sometime.

     Frank helps me scrub the soaps and oils into my hair and another servant comes in and dumps another bucket of boiling water over my head. I gasp and curse and shake my head like a dog drying off. “That was so hot! Why does it always have to be so fucking hot,” I gasp. I feel like they poured liquid metal on me. I think my skin could rise off me now with the steam. No wonder they’re trying to cook me like a lobster because of how fucking red and boiled my skin now is. I think all this and then look around to make sure that I haven’t said this aloud.

     I thankfully kept all that in my head and the servants leave to get more. I scrub my face with my hands and I feel Frank’s hands in my hair, rubbing the last bit of soap into my scalp. I lean back against the metal of the tub and close my eyes. Tomorrow I’m going to become king. I feel the negative vibes of that fact begin to swim away as the servant continues to massage my scalp.

     And then I moan. My eyes dart open and I feel him stop. Oh god why did I do that. I just felt so relaxed for the first time since my father died. I don’t know what to do. Is it appropriate to apologise? Will I just pretend nothing happened? Is it appropriate to scream and run at the window, naked and embarrassed? I better not have just said that out loud. Oh god, I’m too embarrassed to even check.

     I’m about to be a king I should not feel embarrassed in front of my servants.

     And yet… And yet I want to sink under the water and never leave.

     Just then the other servant reappears with a pail of water. “I hope, your majesty, that this is more tepid,” he says before dumping the pail over my head. “Will your highness be requiring more water?” he asks just as my ears empty.

      “No. That’ll be all,” I say. He bows and leaves and I’m left sitting in the tub with the servant before me, looking at the wall. “I’m getting out now, will you hold up the sheet for me.

      “Of course your highness,” he says, walking over and holding out the towel for me. I carefully climb out of the tub and into the towel. And then he is wrapping it around me and… I think I’m being hugged by my servant. I look down at him and he quickly lets go stepping away and looking at the floor.

      I have never not bathed with someone and I swear this is the weirdest experience doing so yet. I pat myself down facing away from him because I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. “Pass me over my night shirt,” I call.

     I hear him fumble around a bit in search of it before passing it to me. I drop the drying sheet and pull the shirt over my head. “Thank you, that’ll be all,” I smile turning to face him. He bows before scuttling off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Blood")  
> Hi hi. I was writing this chapter and i didn't realise my laptop wasn't plugged in so it just randomly died when i was nearly finished. I have never felt so disheartened as I did trying to rewrite this. Anyway, I'll try avoid such stupid mistakes and update as soon as i can. (P.s, let me know what you think)


	6. If All My Enemies Through A Party

POV: Frank

 

The servants aren’t allowed to watch the actual coronation. We’ve spent the past ten days working our asses off to prepare this entire thing, and yet while the event happens, we get to run around even more. In fact, since everyone of status is gone, the castle is teeming with full blown yelling and people legging it from one wing of the palace to the next, without worrying about “offending” the royalty.

     I’ve never been a well exercised person. In fact I still get out of breath climbing a stairs. So this entire coronation think is really taking it out of me. Breath ragged, I get shooed from the prince’s bedchamber to the king’s bedchamber, carrying a tapestry. These things are ridiculously heavy and I feel like I can’t go farther before I even make it into the hall.

     By the time I lug the roll into the King’s new rooms, I think I’m going to pass out with the exertion. A young girl about half my age runs past me and dumps a slightly smaller, yet still heavy, canvas roll next to mine, before running off. A man hammering something into the wall raises an eyebrow and then smirks.

     Nothing like being shown up by an eight year old.

     I’m called down into the kitchens then to change my clothes into something slightly fresher because the king was on the home stretch. Apparently after a nice mass and a crown being plonked on his head, the new king did a lap of the city waving to his adoring public. Or at least, his adoring public who have not yet caught the plague.

     I keep remembering my horrible discomfort yesterday and it stops me in my tracks no matter what I’m doing. I mean, I washed him. The King. I washed him and he _moaned._ And then he continued to sit there, like nothing had happened. I don’t think I’ve ever been so confused and mortified. I’m beginning to wonder whether or not it actually happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if my brain improvised because it’s not every day I get to scrub the hair of a naked man. Maybe the whole thing was a dream, I’m sure the king isn’t even _that_ hot.

      I’m rushed into the great hall then with about eighteen other servers. I’m placed at the back wall, to the far left. Ray Toro quickly explains the courses before returning to the kitchens to complete it. I make eye contact with a serving girl next to me. Everyone is silent now in anticipation. This will be the first feast held here since I arrived, and according to Ray, these are much more fun to serve than your every day running around with food.

     The eerie silence that sat heavily between us and the furniture was broken by the sound of heavy wooden doors being parted as all the noises of joy creep in. Lords, earls, and knights laugh loudly over the sound of hundreds of voices and footsteps. One of the great oak doors is opened and I feel myself sucking in my breath, for some reason. In runs about twenty young boys, all in various page uniforms, each crested with a different standard. They all take their places behind seats at the high table. I’m pretty sure they’ll only stand there for a short while to pour the wine first before sitting down together off against some wall. Or maybe they’re just there to show their lords where to go.

     Silently we wait for the prince, I mean king, to enter the room with his entourage of lords and ladies. Looking around the room there is seating for about sixty as well as two long tables at the edge for the pages and squires. This is going to be exhausting.

      With almost no preamble, the main double doors fly open and the king appears. His face is grim, like the weight of the crown is too heavy. Maybe it is. Upon his dark hair now sits an intricate pattern of gold. It looks like lace from here, but as he approaches I see its leaves, and studded sporadically with bright jewels. That crown is probably worth more than my home village.

      I must say, it looks really out of place on him. He’s wearing slashed, dark blue silks and a thick gold chain, and none of it looks right. Maybe it’s because I’ve only ever seen him in the black mourner’s clothes. 

      He climbs the steps to the top table and stands between his throne and the bench. Everyone looks up at him expectantly and from this angle I can see him nervously fondle with fabric behind his back. “My lords,” he declares. “You may take your seats and we shall feast!” Everyone bows and curtsies before applauding and making their way to their seats. I stand back against the wall as far as I can. We’re not allowed pour any wine until everyone is sitting. The king’s marshal nods to us from the kitchens’ door. He doesn’t get to chill and eat like the rest, even though I’m pretty sure the king is good friends with him.

     Taking the que, I walk up to the lord in front of me and offer the pitcher of wine. He nods and gestures to an incredibly gilded goblet. I recognise this man as the Deisceart, the king’s uncle. He sits with his arms folded and his lips pursed, staring straight ahead. I carefully pour in the wine but the goblet is so big I don’t know how much is enough. When I step back he leans over to check it. “Fill the goddam thing!” he bellows. The lady next to him looks nervously across at him. “I dare say this is all heavily watered down by my cheap nephew, and today is not a day to be sober!” I nod and pour more.

     I serve the lady to his right next. I don’t know who she is but by the way she clucked her tongue at the lord, I assume she’s his wife. She only takes a quarter of a goblet, which is already quite small.

     I then move to the left of the lord and serve Lord Peter Wentz. He is sitting only the Earl Patrick away from the new king himself. The king is looking vacantly across the hall as a man stands there chattering to him. The King’s nose scrunches up at something said but he never opens his mouth.

     “Whoa there,” the lord says grinning at me and I’m dragged back to the reality of the moment. His goblet is almost overflowing with wine and my pitcher is almost empty. “That’ll be plenty for the minute. But I will certainly call you if I want more!” he grins again. I bow my head and walk away to refill my jug.

      By the time I get back everyone at the top table has been served wine so I just stand against the back wall and watch for Josh to call us in for the food. The hall is really loud. The pages are all standing by their lords, I’m not sure why, we served all the wine. They just kind of watched. Maybe it’s just custom.

      In front of me people walk back and forth to the king offering gifts and well wishes. At the same time people are bowing in front of him, holding up swords, pledging allegiance. I watch as the king looks between all the people crowding him, nodding, and accepting, and thanking. I can’t tell whether he’s nervous, bored, or uncomfortable.

      My view is blocked as the server that was to my right is walking past me. She looks at me and nods toward the door. I must have missed Josh’s signal because the rest of the servants are now walking toward the kitchen.

     Inside is frantic. Chefs are running about the slick floor, finishing dishes and passing them to Ray who says what they are before passing them to a server. Josh randomly grabs five people and pushes them toward the hollowed bread mumbling, “You’re on trenchers, you’re on trenchers, you’re all on trenchers, and go now! Start with the king!”

      I make my way up the line as the people on trenchers run into the hall and begin on bread. “Hi frank, here’s a stuffed trout, far end of the table.” Nodding, I lift up the silver dish. The trout is really long and annoyingly heavy. At least the dish isn’t too hot. I carry it over and stand behind the rest of the people with dishes for the top. Ray shouts something and Josh sends us out.

     The platter is slowly getting hotter and I curse quietly under my breath as we walk up the steps. The far end of the table is beginning to look very far away.

      By the time I reach the end I think my arm is going to go on fire. I basically drop the platter down in front of Sir Trohman who laughs and thanks me for helping release the juices. The woman beside him scowls at me as I bow and back away toward the kitchens to get more.

 

There is four courses all in all that night and most of the guests are deep in their cups by the third. The desert is a lowkey disaster. Lord Wentz spots a trifle and takes the entire bowl and dumps it in front of him, giggling as pieces splash the Earl in the face. Patrick frowns and the king glances over before looking straight ahead again to where all the ladies were dancing, some too drunk to stay on their feet. I suppose he’s admiring them. Maybe picking a wife. I wonder if they’ll wash his hair and make him moan.

     The Lord of the south starts yelling about the tart being too sour as he bites into a segment of lemon that was served with it. His wife tries to quieten him and he yells at her, loud enough that some of the musicians skip a beat, distracted. She goes very red and very silent then as he calls for more wine. I step forward to pour it and he starts rambling about how watered down the wine must be that he still can’t feel a thing.

     The Prince accidentally drops a platter of sweetmeats on himself and then sits there staring down at it sadly. When the King asks him if he wants someone to clean it up he shakes his head and his eyes fill with tears. He continues to sit, covered in sweetmeat, for the rest of the night.

      A knight approaches the king, completely drunk, and starts asking him if he’ll ever get the plague out of the country. The king said he didn’t know how, and that if he could he would. And then the knight says that he, the king, planted it so his father would die and he would be king. At this point Josh sends over knights to pull him away. It was only after this that the king called for more wine.

      “I’m too sober for this, fill it right up Frank,” he says as I approach with the wine. At first I freeze, completely taken aback by the fact he remembers my name. Even more so by the fact that he used it.

     When all the food had been cleared away tables were pushed back so there would be dancing. The king sat there watching as slowly people made their way on to the floor. The prince sat next to him, covered in sweetmeat, watching with sad eyes. Their uncle dragged his wife to the dancefloor but quickly replaced her for the young daughter of one of his knights. His wife bit her lip and returned to her seat. When I offered her wine she insisted I left the pitcher.

      After a while the marshal, Josh started calling people out of the main hall where they were no longer needed. I see the King asking his aunt to dance just as I leave.

      The marshal gathers everyone in the room where we sleep. “Okay the king had requested earlier that he only has two chambermen, as opposed to the five his father kept. Who served him last night?”

     The two others, James and Cara, and I, raise our hands. Josh nods and then says, “Okay I’m giving the job to the two lads. Sorry Miss, but it would be better if they’re men.” She nods her head and steps back a little. I don’t think she really wanted the position anyway.

     Josh tells us swiftly to gather our things and meet him up in the king’s new chambers. There’s a spiral staircase next to it that leads to a small set of rooms. This must be where all the personal staff sleep. We’re directed to a small room in the corner directly over the king’s bedchamber. There’s a little bell in the corner. “That’s for him to ring if he needs you in the middle of the night,” Josh points out, yawning. “Leave your things here and go wait in one of the antechambers, the king will need you when he comes in. I need to go now.”

     We nod and walk down to the antechamber. I look at James nervously, he’s been working here a lot longer than I have and has clearly been looking for this position for a while. The way he looked at me when Josh beckoned me too makes me think he doesn’t believe I deserve this. I don’t think the marshal treated it as as big of a promotion it is, I mean, I wouldn’t have given it to me.

     We sit down on one of the plain wooden benches and wait for any sign that the new king is on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter title is also from "Boy Division" because I love it tbh)  
> Hi there, so I'm sorry this took a while, my family randomly takes me away sometimes and i can't bring my laptop but i'm home now and will try to get a headstart on the following chapter. I worked serving weddings this summer and i swear this is what it was like... hectic, full of drunks, some people being joking some glaring, a lot rushing around and trying to get food to the top table. Anyway, let me know what you think about it so far and I'll go write more right away!


	7. I Spent The Night Dancing I'm Drunk I Suppose

POV: Gerard

 

“Oh but the night is still young… Like us!” I giggle. Patrick shakes his head way too fast and Josh sighs. They’re both holding me up like I’m some drunk who can’t walk. “Let go of me guys, I can walk to my room!” I start off in the direction of my chambers.

     “Your majesty, your new rooms are this way,” Josh says.

     I turn on my heel and nearly fall over. When did this hall start sliding like this, we should get that fixed. “I don’t want to sleep in my dad’s bed. Do you know how gross that is? Very.”

     “It’s not like your father died in those sheets, your highness,” Patrick reasoned.

      “Will you all stop calling me that, like, please? Everyone keeps calling me that and it’s like I have no friends, only subjects!” It’s a dumb title anyway. We’re almost at the grand wooden doors.

      “Ugh this will be ew. Where’s Mikey? Did anyone get the sweetmeat off him? He’s so silly when he’s drunk, and he barely had any! I had way more than he did and I’m as sober as a stone!” I see them look at each other like they don’t believe me. And then we’re at the door. Patrick pushes the door open and inside are two servants. They bow really fast and I have to blink a few times just to see them right.

      “Get him into his nightgown and into his bed,” Josh commands. Does he think I can’t dress myself? Rude.

      “I can get dressed by myself, Joshua.” I giggle. Joshua is such a good name why do we just call him Josh.

      “Goodnight your majesty,” Josh calls and I realise they’re leaving. Patrick hesitates at the door, watching me like I’m a baby playing near a fireplace. “Don’t worry Patrick,” I grin at him. “I have these to handsome gentlemen to attend me.” Patrick sighs and leaves.

      I turn around to the two servants. I recognise both of them, one of them is Francis, no, Frank, who I moaned at yesterday. The other is James, the one who used to serve Mikey all the time.

     “Um, can one of you get me water because I don’t feel too great,” I say before walking or stumbling to the bench. I see a blur of colour as one of them leaves in search of water. I look up to see the one that’s left is Frank. “Wasn’t it so awkward yesterday? It’s not usually that awkward I don’t know how I let it get so uncomfortable I mean I’m never that weird. I don’t think. My brother tells me I’m a freak all the time but that’s just because he’s my brother I bet. Do you have brothers?”  
     “Um,” the servant is standing before me and I think he’s blushing. Or maybe he’s naturally pigmented like a tomato. That would be very unfortunate, I tell him as much. “I’m not naturally the colour of a tomato, your highness,” he mumbles, growing even more tomato in colour.

      “Well that’s odd because you’re very tomato right now. Will you get me a pot or something to throw up into?” He runs off immediately and reappears almost instantly, with a pot. As soon as I hold it I throw up. All that lovely food, gone. Maybe it wasn’t that lovely if it’s making me vomit like this. Or maybe it was the wine. Probably not though because I didn’t have _that_ much.

     The other servant, James, appears with a jug of water and a goblet. He pours me some and as soon as I’m finished throwing up, I drink some. “Okay I don’t want to throw up any more. Will you get rid of this?” I ask, passing the pot to James. He nods and leaves with it. “Um Frank, will you get me a cloth so I can wipe my face?”

      He disappears and returns with a slightly damp cloth. When I try to wipe my face I completely miss somehow and instead stroke my jawline. “Could you help me?” Frank nods and takes the cloth from me, then he starts gently wiping my face. It’s so relaxing, I better not moan again because that would be very weird.

      Frank blushes again, “oh no,” I groan, “I said that out loud didn’t I?” he nods. “Fuck, sorry.” He nods and continues wiping my face before stepping back. “Frank will you help me get into my nightgown. I just realised the world is wobbly and I don’t know if I can.” Frank nods and I grab onto his arm and have him lead me into my bedchamber. He undoes the top half of my outfit and I help him pull it over my head. While he folds it I start pulling off my pants and when he turns around from placing it on my chest, I’m standing naked again. He blinks and tries to avert his eyes. I think the tomato colour kind of suits him, in a cute way.

      Together, we pull on my nightgown and I waddle over to the bed. My eyes begin to drift close as soon as I hit the pillow. I think I can hear frank letting himself out.

                                                                                                             

I only wake up because I can smell coffee. Or at least I think I can smell it. The light that’s drifting in from between the shutters actually stings, like a white hot iron prong into my brain. I roll over and face downward into my pillow. The movement causes my stomach to turn. This is going to be a very bad day.

     Unfortunately, the smell if coffee was only feint, and I can’t even tell if it was just a dream or not.

     Everything hurts as I try to fall back asleep. I wonder what happened last night, and then I remember the coronation. The pounding in my head gets heavier, like it’s being aided by the weight of the crown. “Fuck,” I mumble into my pillow, “fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.”

      I vividly remember my uncle yelling at me for watering down the wine. By how deep in his cups as he was I really wish I had. He was so loud and rude and, oh god, the memory of him is making my headache worse. I think I started drinking more when he started accusing me in front of everyone. I hope I didn’t yell back at him.

      A knock comes at my door and I swear I feel it in my soul. The door to my, new, chamber is opened and I think I can see someone bowing. My eyes are almost closed and I’m rather submerged in blanket. “Your majesty, the Lord of Deisceart wishes to take a conference with you in exactly fifteen minutes,” the servant mutters.

     I groan loudly and sink deeper into the sheets. “Wait,” I say, confused. “You mean my uncle?”

      “Yes, your highness.”

      “What the shit? How is he fucking alive right now, by how drunk he was yesterday I assumed I wouldn’t be seeing him at all today.”

      The servant continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway. “Just get me a lot of coffee,” I snap and I hear him scuttle away, the door closing behind him. This is going to be horrible.

      It takes more will power than I ever thought I had to actually get out of the bed. I sit on the edge for a moment as the world spins. I think I’m going to vomit. Again, I’m pretty sure I did yesterday. There’s water by my bedside and I down it all before I attempt standing.

     It takes me all of fifteen minutes to piss and dress myself. In my brand new audience chamber my uncle is waiting for me, in my chair. I’m the king now, I could literally kill him for sitting in my chair. He looks up at me and glares and momentarily I’m worried that I said that out loud. Then I realise I don’t fucking care.

     “I’ll be leaving with Michael tomorrow,” he says from my chair.

     I blink at him. “What?” _What_. He folds his hands in his lap. He looks perfectly alive and well, and it makes me want to slap him. He drank far more than I, and he’s sitting there like it’s a Sunday morning and he’s just had a good pray.

     “We discussed this last night, don’t you recall?” he looks confused. “Or were you too deep in the wine? I discussed it with Mikey too. You were both consenting of my idea.”

     I shake my head, which was actually a terrible idea, and put a hand on my hip. “Refresh my memory of your idea, uncle. And you’re in my spot.”

     “Forgive me, your highness,” he says, the epitome of politeness. He gets up and moves to the other seat next to it. I sit down and lean my head against the cushioned back. He continues, “We agreed yesterday that the best thing for the kingdom would be to separate yourself and Michael in case the plague reaches the castle again. It is a miracle neither you nor your brother caught the plague last time it breached the walls.”

    “Wait, you want to take Mikey away so that if this thing kills me he’ll be alive.”

     “Yes, there’s hardly a trace of the plague in the south.”

     “Then why don’t you take me too. I’m currently kinda the most important person in the entire kingdom.” That sounded very vain. Good.

      He pouts his lips and glares at me. The servant appears next to me with two pots of coffee. I nod at him in thanks as he sets it down next to me. “Your brother has already agreed,” he points out again.

     “I don’t remember any prior mention of this, I doubt he does.”

     “He agreed again this morning. He also said how he couldn’t wait to get outside of the castle walls.” Mikey _has_ been saying that recently, actually. But why the fuck would he agree to go with our uncle when he could just go visit Lord Wentz’s. They’re good friends. “Indeed they are good friends but he’s never seen the south,” my uncle points out. I really need to learn to stop fucking saying things out loud without noticing.

      “I’m going to be honest now,” I say. I watch my uncle nod impatiently from the other side of my coffee. “I don’t want this to happen, I don’t believe you, and I don’t agree to letting him go with you.”

      He sighs, which turns into a very aggressive growling noise. “Gerard! You’re now acting like a child. “Oh no mister, lord, uncle, sir, I don’t want you to take away my brother! I don’t like it! It’s not fair!” Grow up a little now, _your highness_. This has already been consented to. If you watch how much you drink you could have sorted this out yesterday! But everything has already been agreed and worked through and the marshal has already began ordering everything readied. You want to tell him to stop it and put it all back now because you’ll miss your baby brother? You’d rather he stays here and possibly _dies._ You do know if you both die I take the throne. And I have no heir, what do you think happens then. Anarchy is not as romantic as the novels show. You’re being so selfish Gerard.”

     When he finally stops speaking I’m ready to throw up. He’s right, isn’t he? He’s right because I just don’t want him to have Mikey instead of me. I rub my face and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “It’s too fucking early to spring this on me.”

     “It’s eleven am.”

     “Did I fucking stutter? But no, you’re right. And thank you, I guess, for notifying Josh with plenty of time. It’s best to keep my brother safe, just treat him well okay. And let him roam your grounds and things, show him all the nice shit in the south because he really is sick of this castle. But he has to return as soon as the plague lifts.”

     “Oh but of course, your majesty. I’m taking him to keep him safe, remember? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must oversee the packing.” I grunt and nod and let him leave before shouting for more coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter title from "The Sharpest Lives" which is evidently the name of the fic...)  
> Hello ^-^ hope you had/are having a good day. I'd just like to thank you for actually reading this far into my story! I'm sorry if it feels slow, I can't tell whether it is or not because mentally i've finished the whole story and am coping with the feels of finishing a story. Anyyway, thank you again, especially those who left kudos and all those sweet comments <3 i'll try and update soon though i'm away tomorrow (sorry). Make sure to let me know if you enjoyed it/even just made it this far into the story!


	8. King Rat On The Streets In Another Life

POV: Frank

 

It’ll never not strike me as odd that I know all the king’s business before the Privy Council, or even the Earl. The nationally important details, as well as the others. I know when he’s going to pray, eat, and sleep. I know when he’s going to call on people, and even when he’s going to take a shit. The thing about the king that I’ve noticed, is he often says what he’s thinking out loud, without realising.

     I was tending his fire in the presence chamber this morning and he just burst through the doors mumbling, “I’ll get Tyler to lead the kingdom in prayer. Maybe if we all pray at the same time it will go away!”

     He was utterly hysterical, and just after saying this, he fell onto his table and made a groan that turned into a low pitched scream. I looked over at him nervously before finishing with the fire. I don’t know what to do, the ruler of the country is having a mental breakdown five feet away from me, on a table.

     I drop the ash pan making him sit up then and turn around. He looks shocked, “I didn’t see you there. Go get me Patrick, please!” He then rolls off the table and lands in a pile on the ground and sighs. Sometimes I seriously wonder if the king is mentally sound. Probably not.

     I rush off through the castle in search of Patrick. What’s being known as “the coronation fortnight” is finally coming to an end. It started nine days before the coronation and today is the fifth day after so everyone is slowly reluctantly leaving. I can now walk through the halls without stopping every six steps to direct the servants of some far away lord, toward something that’s a foot away.

     The last three days have been really, specifically, weird, as the prince Michael is gone. He left with Lord Thomas Way of Deisceart, fifty armed men including knights, and about twenty servants. The king was incredibly angry to lose so many, I mean I would be to, considering there are so few. But the Lord organised it quietly with the sleep-deprived marshal. Therefore, not only was the massive presence of Deisceart missing, but so was most of the staff.

     And yet, despite the king’s rage at the lack of staff, he refused to let the marshal assign him anymore people. After James had left with the Prince, I am the only one left in the King’s private chamber. He told Josh that he refuses to take the personal staff off anyone else until some new are hired.

    Clearly, that would be easier if everyone wasn’t dying of the plague.

     I knock on the Earl’s antechamber door. After a few seconds it’s opened into the small presence chamber. The earl is scribbling something on a page. He looks up, sees me and says, “Is it urgent?”

      I frown, “I’m not sure, my lord. He sounded urgent but…” The Earl sighs and nods before gathering his writing materials and following me to the King.

     When we enter the King’s chamber to find him pacing and drinking coffee I’d left for him an hour ago. He squints at every mouthful. “Get me some more, hot, coffee.”

    I nod and back away, closing the door as the Earl walks toward the king. I’m still not sure what a normal day is supposed to be like working at the palace. I’ve had about two days, max, that were even vaguely similar, so I can’t tell. It’s fucking crazy work.

     I reach the kitchens which are as busy as ever. I shout for the coffee and then go over to wait with Ray who is on his break. He’s sitting on his straw bed by the stove, eating some bread. “Hi Frank,” he smiles through a mouthful.

     “Hey Ray. I’m just getting the king’s coffee,” I say quietly, in a voice that sounds much sadder than I intended.

      He frowns, “Are you still the only one in the King’s chamber?” I nod. “That’s not healthy, you must be wrecked... Are you feeling okay?”

      “I guess so.” He frowns again. Something moves in the corner of my eye, “Hey, what’s that?”

     Ray shoots his head around, “A rat, ew, shit!” He jumps up and the rat runs out from beneath his straw bed. “Eww, oh god, eww, eww, eww.”

     Within seconds the whole kitchen has turned around holding pots and knives, ready to brutally murder the rodent. I step back just as an old woman hits it exactly on the head with a rolling pin. “Burn yer bed,” she hisses at Ray. “Burn yer bed an’ this here pin. So ye don’t catch the sickness.”

      “I’m not burning my bed, the rat’s gone,” Ray mumbles as everyone returns to their previous jobs. It’s weird how such an unwanted guest unites the kitchen.

     “The rat is gone but ye don’t know what it left behind. Burn yer bed or you’ll end up like the ol’ king,” the woman rolls her eyes and walks back to great fires, tossing the pin at Ray’s bed.

     Ray eyes his mattress nervously. “I feel uncomfortable now. I can’t just set my bed on fire!”  
      “Maybe you should…” I mutter, my mind is racing, but in the way that I’m not really able to hear my thoughts. If there was a rat in my parents’ mattress then how come my mother didn’t catch it? Unless my father didn’t share just that bed. I shake that thought from my head. I really don’t want to think about my father getting laid by some sick girls. Really, of all the thoughts I’m having that’s the loudest one? I realise Ray has been looking for me to reply to something he said.

     Someone hands me the pot of coffee for the king before I can ask him to repeat. I just nod to him and wander off up the steps. I can’t stop thinking about the rat and the old lady’s words. How would the old king have caught it in his plush feather beds?

     Unless the rats touched the bed of his whores… or his food, which must work the same. I begin to hear rats everywhere but when I look around there’s none. It’s quite disturbing and I find myself running toward the King’s chambers.

     I arrive out of breath and shaking. I try to conceal it from the King but it’s difficult to do so when I have to pour coffee into his cup right next to him. Missing the cup completely on my first attempt, I mumble my apology and try again. Half the amount I pour reaches the cup and the other half covers the table.

     It’s then that the King looks at me. “Frank, you’re shaking too much stop. Take a deep breath.” He looks stern. Is that concern I can see behind his eyes? Probably not.

     “I beg your pardon, your majesty,” I wipe the coffee up with the cloth I used to lift the pot before attempting to fill the cup. Slowly it goes from half empty, or half full however you feel yourself, to almost overflowing. The King gives me an odd look and then dismisses me.

     I think the real reason I fucked that pouring up so badly is that I started to mess up and then couldn’t stop myself. Great. Failing is addictive when you start.

     “Patrick, I mean no offense, but you haven’t suggested anything. At all. I would even appreciate a stupid fucking idea right now because something needs to be done and my mind is completely blank. I am running out of time before the whole kingdom fucking dies of hunger because no one is working the fields.” The King rests his head on the table, in a position that really looks defeated. Maybe I should say the thing that old kitchen lady said.

      Did I honestly just consider that?

      “I’m sorry my lord, I can’t think of anything, I’m sorry. Maybe we could boost the trade between our cloth and foreign food? Oileán has an all-year-around, strong wheat crop…”

     “That doesn’t help the fact that all these people are dying. Besides they have the plague too. How do you know they won’t just pass us more?”

     The Earl looks down, I think he looks embarrassed but I can’t really tell from here.

     “All our doctors are dying now too, trying to cure these people. And even with quarantine it’s spreading, like it’s not spreading through people. Maybe it’s in the air. Or the water, like that thing that begins with C.”

     “Cholera?”

      “Yes.”

      “It’s not passed by people,” I say before I can stop myself. The King and the Earl both jump and turn to look at me. “I beg your pardon, your majesty, m’lord.” _Fuck sake Frank. Why can you not just fucking shut your mouth. You’re probably wrong anyway._

      “How do you think it’s passed, Frank,” the king is looking me directly in the eye.

     I swallow, he looks so serious. I guess he’s really this desperate. “Um, I have heard amongst many of the commons,” that’s a lie, already, great, “that it seems to, um, manifest from wherever rats were. Your highness”

     “Like what,” he’s actually listening to me.

     “In straw, or where food is stored that there were rats. So straw beds, that’s how the commoners get it, the rats get in there.” He nods for me to continue. “Um, my father died of it but my mother never felt it. Clearly, he had slept elsewhere. But didn’t pass it to her when they shared a small living space. Also, the food… you said wheat came from Oileán, and the plague was there too… What if it brought rats with it?”

     “There are rats on ships?” The Earl nods and mumbles something affirming. “That’s unpleasant. Patrick, get me the physicians. And the Privy Council.” The Earl nods and leaves to do what’s usually my job. When he leaves the king asks for me to continue and explain everything popping into my brain. The thoughts are growing into probable things as I speak.

 

I repeat the entire thing to the King’s master physicians and council when they adjourn. All of which is prompted by the King. Some of them seem distantly uncomfortable to have me talk about all the rats that have been at their food. Or maybe it’s the fact that a servant is addressing them openly that’s making them shift awkwardly in their seats.

    When I’m finished the King sends me to the kitchens to return the coffee pot and get him lunch. I wonder what all the nobility are saying about me, now that I have left earshot. Probably questioning my sources, or the reliability of my word. Or so much more.

     I try not to think too deeply as I stand in the kitchens, back against the wall. The old woman is stirring a cauldron on the boil, glaring around the edges of the kitchen, searching for more rats. I don’t know why her words sounded so believable, but since she said them I couldn’t stop connecting it to all the deaths by the plague I know of. The neighbours rethatched their roof and a week later they were all dead. A week under whatever the rats had spread to their roof. Luckily we could never afford to replace anything and no new rats had touched what was in our home. But my niece’s bed was new… and that storehouse was definitely full of rats, where we thought it didn’t matter, so anywhere we weren’t actually living.

     My eyes scan the room, searching for the carriers of death. Maybe this is just superstition, but either way, Ray’s bed is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter title from the song "Destroya")  
> I'm sorry this is kinda late, i started a new tv show... and yea I'm going to save my dignity and not tell you how seasons i've watched... So anyywayy here is the chapter! I'll try and update tomorrow (if possible) because then I'll be gone (for like two days and i still have to write the thing) because i'm travelling up to see Twenty One Pilots and All Time Low live. (!!!!!!!!). Anyway, hope you enjoy it, lemme know what you think and i'll get to writing more! xo


	9. We Are So Far From You

POV: Mikey

 

It finally stops raining when we cross the bridge just before Baile, the city my uncle has raised around his castle. My father, before he died, told me that it was only a town before my uncle took the castle. Now, the city is thriving and as far as I can see, only a little smaller than the capital.

     I sit up straight in the saddle as the people come out of their houses to join those already on the streets. They all bow or courtesy before shouting “welcome m’lord, welcome my prince!” People stretch up towards us and knights on foot have to push the crowds back. Some young girls throw rose petals and herbs at our feet, making each step the horse takes send a weird rose/rosemary perfume directly up my nose.

     My uncle waves from his saddle and throws some bronze coins into the crowds. His wife sits in her saddles and waves elegantly, I look down. Nearing the end of the main street he turns in his seat to face me, “Michael, you did not wave.”

     “I know?”

     “Why not?”

     “Because… I don’t know.” I sit up taller still, matching my uncle’s height.

     “You should, it makes the peasants think you care about them. They all turned out to see you, you know. They see me all the time.”

     “They went a little over the top, shouldn’t they still be mourning?”

     “You still miss your father?”

     “Well, obviously.”

     He sighs. “You actually loved your father, unlike your brother. Mikey, if I may, your brother has been crowned, they never think of the old king once the new king is there.” I scowl at him. “Life goes on, for those living. If Gerard died tomorrow, people would forget about him and just look to you.”

    “I don’t want to think about that, I wouldn’t just move on, uncle,” I spit, jumping down from my horse throwing the reins to a stable hand. I begin walking toward the main door of the castle.   
    “My brother’s dead almost three weeks, I don’t care anymore, I thought I always would,” he calls as I reach the steps.

 

I’m made eat with my uncle in his rooms that night. He politely tells me about the history of the castle and I nod along, zoning out. He then asks me how I feel about Gerard being king.

    “It’s kinda weird,” I say through a mouthful of salmon. The food here is actually really nice. I make sure not to show it on my face.

    He folds his hands on the table, “weird, how?”

    “Just, he’s still young, you know. And I don’t really see him, even when we were still under the one roof. Like, it was just last year that he started to actually be shown what a king does.”

     “You were shown for longer, though, weren’t you?”

     “Yes, I guess. I was introduced to that shit three years ago.”

     “When you were only fourteen,” he smiles nostalgically like he was remembering when he was fourteen. “Your father said even then that you were better prepared for king then Gerard ever will be. I think you would do better than he will.”

     I almost choke on my food, “What? No way, I’d be shit.”

     “Not as… shit, as you think. If you were born first you wouldn’t think like that. Gerard has been trying to make sure you think like that, so that you don’t try kill him, like all the evil brothers in the plays.”

     I stare at him incredulously. “I want to go home.”

    “It’s not safe. We can’t have the good prince dying the way the good King did.”

     “Gerard will be a good king.”

     “He has no training, he has no idea what he’s doing. His advisers are all too young to have any idea what they’re doing either.”

     I shake my head and stand up. “I didn’t excuse you,” he states.

    “I think my status is enough above you that I can leave if I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Title from "Helena")  
> Okay so sorry this is late! I didn't get to write at all the day i thought i could.. then i went to my friends house... the next day i drove five hours so i could go see Twenty One Pilots and All Time Low (which by the way were amazing omfgi nearly cried like 1248083 times and almost touched Tyler and Jack). Then i only got home yesterday late enough to have a shower and sleep because i was back to school today...(which was okayish)  
> So yea here's the chapter, it's short because it's Mikey's POV, I hope you enjoy it, let me know either way and I'll try update soon! XoE


	10. You Can Run Away With Me

POV:  Gerard

 

It’s been a week and a half since Mikey left and the only word I got is that they arrived, five days ago. I guess my uncle won’t let him write or something. Or maybe Mikey has tried writing but all his letters are checked so he doesn’t want to.

     I’ve sent the physicians and some knights out to test what Frank said about the rats, and so far the village we’re trying to fix hasn’t gained any new patients. I think that my lords didn’t realise until now that maybe the peasant’s superstitions have some facts amongst them. I spent the past week quizzing Frank about them and he seems to be incredibly knowledgeable. He says he never did chores in the fields so all he’s telling me his mother told him in the kitchens as they cooked and cleaned. I bet he’d be great in my kitchens, but I don’t want him to move.

    Because he’s my only chamber man, not because his company is really enjoyable. Definitely not because he’s nicer to be around than all my lords now that Mikey’s gone.

    My chamber is dark except for the fire burning in the hearth. I’m fully dressed and staring at it as every now and again the darkness is broken when the doors open and someone runs in with a pail of boiling water for the bath.

     I know it’s ready when Frank closes the door gently behind him, no pail in hand.

     I nod to him before pulling off my shirt and tossing it to the side. In the flickering firelight I see him watching me and I suddenly feel more awkward. As if I’m undressing in front of someone who I would rather see undressing. I shake my head and then pause when I see the look on Frank’s face.

    Oh fuck.

    “Did I say that, out loud?” I say nervously.

    He goes a very dark shade of red. “I beg your pardon, your highness?” He shuffles uncomfortably. Oh fuck, I probably said that out loud, fuck, but I can’t be sure and I sure as shit won’t repeat it. It’s like that time I moaned at him.

     I then try to cloud my mind so I can’t say anything more out loud. I slip out of the rest of my clothes and make my way over to the bath. I feel like maybe I shouldn’t have him help me wash, considering all the things I’ve already said. But I can hardly wash myself, who will pour water on me.

     I lower myself gently into the tub. The water is hot and stings like it always does. I extend my arm to Frank and stare straight ahead at the fire, thinking about horses. No one should get stiff in any awkward areas when thinking about horses. I shoot my head around to Frank to make sure I didn’t say that out loud, because if I did that would be really fucking weird.

     If I did say it, he made no sign, his hazel eyes just continue to sparkle in the firelight while fixed on my arm. And then neck as he moves the cloth over my shoulder and chest.

      He catches my staring and I can see him try not to return it.

     And then suddenly I feel a rush of heat and- oh no. “Get more hot water,” I blurt suddenly. “I’m getting chilly.”

     He looks surprised but runs off to do so anyway. I close my eyes and force horrible images of my uncle fucking a stocking until I go flat beneath the water and feel like I’m going to vomit.

 

I can’t sleep that night, afraid of what I may think about and dream if I close my eyes. I’ve dreamt of sins before, but I’m sure everyone has… The old archbishop says the devil comes to try and tempt us in our sleep. I really doubt the devil comes into my dreams in the form of a sweet talking Prince from Oileán. In the morning I don’t so much wake as be told to get out of bed. Patrick is sitting in my presence chamber when I’m dressed. “You look terrible,” he states.

     “Yes.” I take my seat by the fire. Frank is not present.

     “Sorry.”

     “It’s okay, it’s true.”

     “Could you not sleep?”

     “Nope.”

     “How come?” Behind Patrick I see the door open and Frank entering with a pot of coffee.

     “I don’t know.”

     “If this test is getting to stressful for you we can slow it down. Take a break from the town and this city and-”

     “No need to do anything drastic, Patrick. I’m fine, and I’ll be better once I know the people will be getting better.”

     “Your highness,” Frank coughs still holding the pot. He also looks exhausted, maybe more exhausted than me. I nod for him to continue, “Am I wrong in saying that there is just less cases developing… and no one with it is getting better…”

     I purse my lips and face Patrick whose brow is deeply furrowed. “You are right.”

    “We may prevent it from spreading, but like, everyone already with it will then die.”

     “But isn’t it better that we keep anyone else from getting it while we can?” Patrick looks nervous. He’s still not used to taking advice about the national health crisis from a servant. He’s better with it than most of the others. “Better with what?” Patrick asks confused.

      “Oh, nothing,” I shake my head. Patrick raises and eyebrow but doesn’t say anything else.

     “Yes but we’re doing that already. Now we need to stop people from dying, the ones that are already sick,” Frank says firmly before looking at the ground and taking a step back.

     “Then what can we do?” Patrick sighs. Frank shrugs and Patrick sighs again. I find myself looking back and forth between them like it’s a game of tennis. “I know we have to do something but what can we do?

      “Go send for Tyler, will you? And get the physician?” I say to Frank. He nods and leave.

      I face Patrick whose lips are pressed tight together as he mulls something over. “Are you sure he’s just a chamberman?” he asks after a while.

      “What do you mean?”

      “You treat him differently than people usually treat their chambermen.”

      I find myself laughing and possibly blushing. I can’t tell I’m too busy mumbling, “No, he’s just a servant. He’s my only servant though.”  
      Patrick looks confused. “I wasn’t saying anything… I was more just wondering if he was from a higher background than serf, for someone so knowledgeable.”

      I nod and look over at the door. “He is quite knowledgeable, isn’t he? But I’m pretty sure he’s just a serf.”

     “Can he read?”

     “I don’t know.”

     “Can he write?”

     “Again, I don’t know. It’s never really been a topic of conversation. In fact conversation hasn’t really been a thing,” I say nervously. Why am I nervous?

     “Have I offended you somehow your majesty?”

     “No, why would you think that!”

     “You seem to be defensive, my pardons.”  
     “It’s okay.”  
     He nods and looks out the window. I concentrate on not saying anything, which is incredibly hard when you’re still thinking. I wonder if Patrick asked all that because he thinks I feel differently about Frank, like he’s more than just a servant. Or maybe because I allow him to speak to me like he’s a lord.

     “That is why,” Patrick said looking over at me. Fuck. How much did I say out loud?

      “How much did I say out loud?”

      “You said because you allow him to speak to you like he’s a lord? I assume you mean that servant.”

      “Yes.”

      “Do your Lords seem uncomfortable around him?”

      “Are you uncomfortable around him?”

      “No!” he seems offended. “But, are the others?”

      “I guess so. But that won’t change, and he has an important input and he was the one to first mention the rat thing. I know it’s old wives tales but old wives weren’t telling us anything, so we kinda need him,” I stop myself here even though I know I could go on. I don’t know why I feel like I should stand up for him, he is a servant.

     “People are beginning to call him an out of place peasant,” Patrick mutters.

     “Who are people?”

     “People, I’m not sure, Pete told me that people were telling him.” I slam my head down on the table. That might have been a little over-dramatic. It really hurts so I leave it there in case I start crying or something. “Pete doesn’t think that,” Patrick says quickly, “Pete actually suggested something to me…”

     I nod into the table. “Go on.”

     “If you want to continue to… talk to him like this it may be better to promote him…”

     “And have him referred to as a jumped up peasant?” I look up just in time to see the door opening. Patrick frowns at the floor, he knows that would happen. “Hi Tyler, Dr. Dickson, come in, sit down. Frank get Josh. Now, your grace, doctor, Frank has brought a huge fucking problem to my attention that we need fixing.”

     “The plague?” the doctor suggests.

     “Well, yea. But we think we can stop people from getting it but all the people that have it will still die from it.”

      “One in twenty seven people who get it don’t die,” the doctor shares yet another helpful fact.

      “Okay great, but the other twenty six do die and that’s really fucking shit for us.”

 

I spent the next twenty five minutes listening to the doctor’s unhelpful statements relating vaguely to the disease before I send him out to talk to the on the ground physicians in the city. I try to make it seem like an important job but I really just need him to leave.

     “What do you think Tyler?” I ask when he’s gone. At some point my head returned to the lying position on the table.

     “It is a very serious issue… and people seem to have lost hope,” he looks away.

     “That may have happened when my father died.”

     “Yes,” he looks nervously at Patrick. He hasn’t said a word since they arrived. I don’t think he’s sulking, he genuinely might be shy. “I’m worried,” Tyler continues. “I think faith might be dead. Everyone gets it and accepts their death, and, well, nothing kills man faster than his own head.”

     “But until we can give them a cure no one’s going to cheer up,” I sigh. This whole plague thing’s exhausting me. Where’s Frank?

     Well we have a few things that sort of work, don’t we?”

     “Look, prayer clearly hasn’t been working.”

     “No I mean potions. Herbs, spices, that sort of thing. The Archbishop of Oileán told me his people cut open the swellings to let the disease leave, but that doesn’t sound effective… Whereas smearing rosemary jelly on their chest may be. Or there is this fungus that kills other fungi.”

    “And does any of it work?”

    “We could try it on a village, tell them it works. If they believe it’s curing, that might help.”

     “How?”

     “I don’t know.”

     “I guess it’s worth a shot. Anything is. Patrick will you write to some knights to get them to implement this. And I’m promoting Frank to be master of robes as soon as Josh gets here, does that sound more tolerable for the lords?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Title from "Summertime")   
> I realised two things while writing today. 1) this is going to be a hella long fic and 2) I update this so irregularly. Like sometimes there's an update daily, other times it's like a week apart, and I'm really sorry, that must be such a pain in the ass if you actually want to read it. I'll try update more regularly but I'm back in school so i don't know how much i can. Anyhow, please let me know what you think and thank you for reading this far!


	11. Just Look At All That Pain

POV: Frank

 

Weeks pass and I can see the king get more and more stressed. Most people praise him for discovering a way to stop more cases of the plague appearing, though he is still freaking the fuck out over the fact that no one who has it seems to be getting cured. He’s tried all the old wives’ brews, treating them as legitimate medicine, and none have worked.

     I hear all his worries as he paces his rooms, and he seriously paces a lot. Over the past three weeks of working for him and him alone, I have learned to tell the difference between when he accidentally says his thoughts and when he directly addresses me, master of his wardrobe. It was a really weird, random, promotion but I’m not complaining. I get more money and get a new, less itchy outfit.

     Unfortunately, he hasn’t asked for anyone else in his rooms so I still do almost everything, as well as help him dress and lay out his clothes. I don’t know what a Master of the Wardrobe is even supposed to do except help him put his pants on.

    If you asked me five years ago what I’d be doing in the future, helping the young, beautiful, well capable king to pull on his chemises would not have crossed my mind. Like, at all. Possibly because five years ago I didn’t see my dad dead and kicking me out in his will. But also because I didn’t see the old king prematurely in his tomb; leaving the new king with his huge shirts to fill. And the new king to be handsome enough to make me hope faith isn’t real because really, I’d rather be pulling his pants off than helping them on. _Thoughts like that is what will send me to hell._

     The king storms into his private chamber where I’m scrubbing the table. He always eats there and it’s so sticky with coffee it’s really disgusting. “Frank, I have decided to send someone to Oileán to get cures. I need them to be cured. If they aren’t cured everyone will die. Everyone else will die then after because they’ll starve. Oileán must have something.”

    I nod. “Good idea, your majesty.”

    “Okay. Thanks. Go tell Patrick to get me the council will you?”

     “Sure, can I finish scrubbing this?”

     “Yea sure,” he smiles. I expect him to turn away but he doesn’t, he just stands there, watching me scrub. “No penance will rectify it,” he says, finishing a thought he had out loud.

     “Rectify what, your highness?”

     “Some sins really suck, because they honestly don’t seem to have any sinful aspects, you know? Like, why are certain things as sinful as murder, yet people kill each other the whole time in wars and yet I can’t- never mind. Tell Patrick when you’re ready.”

 

The meeting goes the way they usually do with unhelpful suggestions and no one actually offering to the necessary work, only agreeing on its necessity. Tyler blesses the travel without offering to do it. Josh suggested writing letters to the king of oileán immediately about the imminent arrival of someone, but didn’t offer to write them.

    In the end only Patrick volunteered but he is the only one needed here so he can’t go. Instead the king ended up asking Sir Trohman and Sir Hurley to go and they both called it an honour. If it was such an honour why didn’t they offer? Nobility are lazy I guess, because they’re all used to having the work done for them.

    Everything thereafter was to be arranged by Josh and Patrick as the King shooed everyone away.

    As soon as they leave the king collapses onto his chair by the fire. “I can’t do this anymore,” he groans to himself. “It’s been a month and I’m already so done with this. Why am I the only one not plagued to shit here?” He slumps all the way off his chair and onto the floor, where he groans some more.

     Situations like this always make me uncomfortable because I want to hug him and tell him it’ll be alright but I can’t because that would be so out of place. “Frank…” he mumbles after a while.

     “Yes, your majesty?”

     “Could you help me up or something?”

     “Of course,” I extend my hand and pull him upwards with much more ease than I expected. He stands there in front of me, literally centimetres away, still holding my hand. I blush and look down and before I can think what to do he’s resting his head on my shoulder.

     My mind races so fast that it might as well be blank, and I let instinct wrap my free arm around the King of this country. He sighs into my shoulder “thank you,” before going silent. I stand there half hugging half holding up the King for another few minutes before he decides to sit again.

 

The King sends off the two knights for foreign land early in the morning, three days later. I’m not sure what relations between a king and his servant are supposed to be like but whatever it is I’m pretty sure we’ve deferred from the track. I mean, in the past three days the king has had five emotional breakdowns, and each time I was there to hug him and console him and tell him that he’s doing so well. Once it was just after a meeting with Patrick and we sat awkwardly entwined in front of the fire as he mumbled things about Patrick being a good guy, and a better guy for the job. I stroked his hair and told him he’s just as good a guy as Patrick, and not to compare himself to others.

     “Patrick,” Gerard (yes he asked me to call him that) says as they walk back through the castle, “how long will it take them to get there?”

     “There as in to Oileán or there as in to the palace?” Patrick looks like he’s aged about twenty years since the old king died. Gerard has been so stressed he’s been leaning on Patrick like a crutch and Patrick has literally done everything.

     “Both.”

     “A week to Oileán at least. Another three days to be in the castle.”

      I leave before I can catch the rest of their conversation. I have to go get the King’s breakfast and litres of coffee. The castle is beginning to feel warmer, a sign that summer is nearing even faster than I thought. Summer also means that the plague has been around for almost half a year and has killed more people than I want to think about. And summer makes you sweat and from what I’ve seen, sweat adds to sickness.

     I get the tray off Ray who smiles and says something about how tired I look. I nod without replying and head back upstairs.

      I reach the King’s chambers just as Patrick is leaving. “Take care of him now, won’t you,” Patrick whispers, “he seems to be a bit… distressed.” He looks so sympathetic I wonder what just happened.

     Inside, the slightly distressed kind is lying face down in the middle of the room, arms and legs outstretched, and most of his body hidden under a cloak.

     “Um, your majesty, Gerard, I brought you your breakfast.”

     “I’m not hungry,” he mumbles into the floor.

     “Won’t you at least have your coffee?”

     “Won’t you at least fuck me?” He jumps up then eyes wide and wild. Before I can even process his words he bursts out laughing, “Sorry about that, it was meant to be funny. Ha ha! I’m sorry!”

      I shake and then nod my head, “yes of course.”

     “Please laugh.” I laugh nervously. “Fuck why can’t I shut up. I really never do, do I? I know I say what I’m thinking out loud a lot and I don’t fucking know when I do and I’m sorry.” He falls to the floor again. I just stand there watching him because what else am I fucking supposed to do? I wonder if all nobility act like this or have I happened to get a slightly nuts monarch to have to look after.

     After a while he as continues to lie on the floor I get up and poor him coffee and then leave it by him. “Thanks,” is what I’m pretty sure he said but it’s rather mumbled. I then do something I’m almost positive servants don’t usually do with their king, I lie down next to him. I scoot a little bit so that I’m lying flat on my face, just like him. How can he be breathing so easy, when my lungs are filling with dust?

     I can feel him as he turns his head to the side, so I mirror his action, still breathing in a lot of dust.

     You know when you go outside at night and there’s so many stars and you try to focus on one or two but you can’t because the rest are also so beautiful? That’s what it’s like looking at his face this close up, I just want to see it all, and my eyes won’t focus on any one part. “Frank,” he mumbles.

     “Yea?”

     “Have you ever sinned?”

     Well that’s not what I expected him to say. “Hasn’t everyone?” I don’t know what I expected really.

     “Yes, but have you ever sinned and not looked for absolution?” This question makes me nervous. I search his eyes for signs of what he’d like me to say.

     “Yes I have. Have you, your majesty?” I hope he doesn’t ask what I did as my mind flicks to the barn with boy three and a half years ago.

     “I guess it’s a normal thing, I have of course. I will never understand why things are sinful.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Killing or raping someone is surely two of the worse things ever right, because it’s really fucking bad towards the other person.”  
      “Yea?”

      “Then why is two people of the same gender being in love a bad thing. Like I know lust is a sin but it can’t be as bad as murder, right?”

      I stare at him in shock for a minute and I can see panic build in him. Before he has a chance to burst out with backwards babbling I say, “I couldn’t agree more.”

     His eyes light up and then close and I close my eyes and it feels like my insides have gone on fire. I don’t believe it when I feel his lips on mine and my eyes dart open.

     It wasn’t all in my head, his face is there, touching mine, his lips really are moving against mine, and mine really are moving back. For a minute I let it. I let it and I enjoy it and then I realise what I’m doing.

     Gerard sits up and looks at me nervously after I pull apart from him and roll away. “What’s wrong?”

     “I… We shouldn’t. You’re, you know, the king. And I’m your servant.”

     “Wait you didn’t just kiss me because you’re my servant right?” He asks nervously.

     “Of course not! It’s because I wanted to. But I shouldn’t want to, and you shouldn’t want to.”

     “But I do want to.”

     “Yes, well, so do I.”

     “Then what’s the problem?”

     “It’s this kind of thing people get killed for.”

     “But I’m the king…”

     “Then it will be a very historic killing.”

     “Then what are we supposed to do? Just deal with it?”

      “I guess. You’ll probably need to marry a woman soon, have a queen and a son.”

      “Are you fucking serious?”

      “That’s what all the lords say, isn’t it.”

      “Yea but I was planning on crossing that bridge when I get to it, way off in the distance.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “For what?”

      “For bringing it up.”

      “It’s okay. But why are you so against it, like I guess you don’t _need_ a reason, but a reason would be nice.”

      “I got kicked out of my family for kissing a boy.”

      “Oh…”

      “And that boy wasn’t exactly the king.”

      “Well… where do we go from here now? No one will have to know. In fact no one can know.”

      “People could walk in, mistakes happen…”

      He walks on his knees over to me. “You obviously don’t have to…”

      This is insane. He’s insane. I’m clearly also insane. This entire thing that’s currently happening, is insane. And then I do something of equal insanity and kiss him. He puts his hand around the back of my neck and holds me there, as if trying to make sure I don’t roll away again. The insanity washes over me but I don’t try and stop it because this could easily be the most positive thing to happen to me in a long time.

    When we mutually decide to stop I get up and go ask for more, hot, breakfast for the king as if nothing had happened. At least I hope I look like nothing has happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Fake Your Death")  
> Okay this took ages and I'm really sorry. It's the goddam back to school thing, i have so much homework I'm vaguely drowning, five days in. But guess who i went to see Wednesday..: motherfucking frnkiero (!!!!!!) Oh my dear god he is a literal god. His voice is so unexpectedly high and his accent and ahh. And i met him afterwards and he is so smol and sweet and he signed my ticket and I am so not okay. Anyway, i'll never really recover from shaking the tiny angel's hand. All i could think about though the entire concert was the amount of weird fan fiction about him, pretending to be him, pretending to like and sometimes fuck him as Gerard... It was surreal to actually see that guy.  
> Anyway, thank you ever so much for being patient and reading. And all the lovely comments literally make my day everytime i read them ya'll are so sweet :3 I'll go now and try write more xo


	12. An We'll Celebrate The End Of Things

 

POV: Mikey

 

Gerard never writes. I watch every messenger that arrives and they’re never for me. He never even wrote to me regarding the cures, only to our uncle telling him how to instruct his people to keep them from catching the plague; and then later how to treat those who already have.

      Since our stand offs on my first day here, over a month ago now, my uncle of Deisceart has seriously backed off. He lets me wander around the grounds and around the city and shit. He even apologised days later about how he’d acted when I first arrived. He was still grieving and was handling it very badly. _And_ he lets me sit in and watch him deal with his people when I want to.

     Which is most of the time because there’s not much else to do.

     I’m not saying I like my uncle very much but he’s the only person out here other than my aunt and her ladies, and well, I don’t really sit and sew with them.

     I’m currently sitting in the tower with my uncle, scanning sheets upon sheets about the exports of our produce. We’re doing really well, considering all the people are dying. Actually, that’s probably why we’re doing so well, everyone else is dying and need our food.

    “We could really easily raise all the prices and get our revenue right up,” I muse, flicking through another sheet on the amount of milk we have sold. “People will still have to buy food.”

     “But the people have no money,” he replies, “Even were they to sell all they own, that wouldn’t be enough, if they’re struggling as is. So if prices went up and everyone was starving, food would have to be subsidised by the crown. You see?”

     “Oh, right.”

     “We’d just be extorting from my brother, I mean, your brother,” he glances out the window, “speaking of which…”  
     I follow his gaze. Coming over the draw bridge is a messenger in black livery, riding a very tired looking horse. “Is he from Gee?”

     “It seems so,” Deisceart purses his lips and checks his pocket watch. “I wonder what he has to say, it’s only been a few days since his last letter.”

     Moments later one of our men escorts Gerard’s into the room. His clothes are completely sweat soaked and his hair is sticking to his  red face. It’s like he hasn’t even had a chance to catch his breath before he was brought up here. In fact, he probably hasn’t.

     Panting, the messenger bows low, “my… lord…”

     “Please take a seat you look tired. What messages have you?” Deisceart sits tall and watches patiently as the man takes a seat near the lit fire.

     “Two letters from his majesty the king. God save him!”

      “Indeed. To whom are they addressed?”

      “Both to the lord Deisceart, m’lord.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I guess I thought with two letters at least one would be for me.

      “Give them here,” Deisceart sighs, outstretching his hand. The messenger stands and passes them to him before returning to his seat, landing heavily and causing a cloud of dust to rise off him.

     My uncle unseals the first letter which id just addressed to _My Lord._ I watch his eyes dance as he scans the page before folding it over and handing it to me.

     It’s very short.

_My Lords,_

_As of last week you have been ordered to distribute the means of making antidotes to your local physicians and healing women. I, his majesty the king, am delighted to announce that it is working well with a seventy eight percent success rate. Therefore we would like to officially declare the kingdom in remission. Please spread the word,_

_Gerard II_

The only thing by my brother is the signature. Even the words don’t sound like his, but maybe they are, who knows, I haven’t heard or read his words in five fucking weeks.

     I look up to see my uncle’s brow furrowed as he skims through the other letter. When he’s finished he folds it and puts it in his pocket. “What is it?” I ask.

    “Your brother has ordered you home.”

    “Really? What did he say?”

     “That the country is now in remission and it is safe for you to be back by his side.”

     “That’s fantastic! May I read it?”

     “No.”

     “What? Why not?”

     “Because the king specifically requested I don’t show you.”

     “Why?”

     He sighs. “I don’t know. Now go on you into the city and speak to the bishop will you? No way better to spread news than to tell the clergy. I need to speak with some of my knights now.”

     I purse my lips as I stand. “But when can I get going back?”

     “I don’t think it’s good for just the one of you to travel all the way to the capital.”

     “You’d hardly let me go alone?”

     “I’m not letting you go at all! My prince, your life is far too valuable, I’ll tell your brother you must stay here until the country calms down. There are many bandits en route looking for money to feed their dying relatives, tragic as is. I’m not finished with you yet. By which I mean it’s not time for you to go. I’m sorry, Michael, I know you miss your brother. I’ll write back to him and tell him you miss him."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Drowning lessons" I have a fic named after it; you should so check that out.... http://archiveofourown.org/works/2320988/chapters/5110310 )  
> Hi, I'm so sorry this is the slowest i have ever written a fic. And this chapter is tiny. I just have literally no time, and I don't even know what I'm doing instead of this. Studying probably. I have a mini rant imma say here so you needn't read it.   
> It's totally, 100% okay, to be just okay. You will have people asking why you're only just okay sometimes and that's rather shit because okay is a perfectly viable emotion. Some people will want you to be super happy all the time which, in itself, is unhealthy. If you're really happy all the time then if something happens negatively, the fall in your mood will be awful. Also once you're sad, it's really hard to be supremely happy again just like that (making you freak out because you're not delira like is supposedly normal). Without something making you hella happy or hella sad, you should feel neutral. Okay, fine, grand, whatever you say. Seriously it's okay to be okay sometimes.   
> Annnnyway, i really needed to rant that, I've been battling my friend over that for months because i'm not ott delighted with life all the time.   
> Thank you so much my dears for reading my fic, it means the world :3 xo


	13. Ride Into The Sunset

POV: Gerard

 

The road to the southlands is long and famously treacherous. The start of summer means the end to last year’s harvest is causing a lot of people to get hungry. I’ve had report after report about bands of bandits and hireable thieves making home in the forests.

    I literally don’t want to fucking go anymore. The country is still in the shitter and a lot of the poor blame me. It’s not like I caused the plague; and the palace was on food rations just like everywhere else.

     I just don’t want to go.

    “But you miss Mikey,” Frank replies. I must have said that out loud. Frank’s sitting on the huge clothes chest in the middle of the room. I didn’t realise I have that much clothes. Enough to fill a chest in which you could easily fit Frank… twice.

     “Yes I do miss him. That’s why I’m not walking to Patrick and calling this off.”

     “Don’t worry Gee, just get a good night’s sleep now.” I love how he calls me Gee, it’s just so much nicer than “your majesty”.

     “I would better were you to sleep with me,” I reply with a sigh.

      His entire face contorts. “You know why that’s not an option, right?”

      “Sadly,” I fall back onto the featherbed. “What do you even sleep on Frankie?”

      “A bed?”

      “Yea but what’s it made of?”

      “Straw? What are you on about Gee?”

      I mull this over. I’m not even that sure what straw feels like, in bed form anyway. It couldn’t be as nice as my feather one. In fact, from my experience with straw, I don’t see any way they could make it comfortable at all. I guess not everyone can have feathers. “What do feathers feel like?” Frank asks.

     I grin and beacon him over. When he’s close enough I grab his hand and pull him down onto the bed. He makes a little grunt at the force of hitting the mattress. After a few seconds of lying face down on it he twists himself around and looks up at me. “Oh.”

    “Good oh?”  
    “Amazing oh.” He rolls onto his face again. I grin at him as he wiggles around on the bed, dazed. “It’s so soft, and comfortable, and soft…” his voice is muffled by the bed. “I really wish I could sleep here.”

    “You should.”  
    “I can’t.”  
    “I know.”

     He contorts himself around and looks up at me. “I should go. Big day tomorrow.”

     “You should go get your sleep,” I concede. I wish he could sleep with me. Not even in the sexual way, just to have company overnight sometime. So I could wake up to more than the sheets.

     He sighs. “It will be a long day tomorrow so you should get your sleep too.” I watch as he slides himself off the bed and stands before me momentarily. “I’ll see you in the morning, Gee.”

     “See you in the morning, Frank,” I try to grab at his hand but he’s already turning around. From the back he looks even smaller than he is. Smaller and smaller until he’s around the door and away to sleep with the straw.

 

Sometimes I still see my father in my dreams, though the memory of what he actually looked like is slowly fading and is being replaced by the images painted of him. I can’t remember the exact tones in his eyes, or the precise shape of his nose. I see him more and more like that gaudy life size portrait in the main hall. It’s uncomfortable, because I know that’s not really what he looked like; but my brain has no other suggestion.

     Last night I saw him dancing with my mother, a figure who I know only as the paintings I see of her. She died shortly after Mikey was born, so I can’t remember her at all. All the paintings of her look similar enough that I have a vague idea. She must have been incredibly pale with very watery eyes.

     I dreamt of them dancing together in a dark grey room. The walls and floors are a dark grey wood and the world fades to black on both sides. The two are dressed in grey and black and the only colour is in their cheeks and lips.

     My father twirls my mother around and dips her elegantly before her face goes cold and grey. She closes her eyes and simply turns to sand. Slipping away, like dust; carried across the ballroom on an impossible wind. My father steps back from the dust, looking so freaked out that I run over to him and grab him. He looks at me dolefully before turning to sand too. He falls through my hands and follows my mother in the wind. I know that should feel unsettling at the very least, but it’s not; it feels natural. I turned around and face Frank and Mikey. They start running toward me, arms outstretched but before they can grasp me I feel something gripping my throat and squeezing, bursting my body into sand. I almost slip away before I wake up.

     My breathing is shaky when I sit up. I wonder if that counts as a nightmare even if I’m not frightened. I pat down my arms and face to make sure I’m still solid. Around me the room is dark and cold.

     I peak through the bed curtains. Between the shutters I see dark grey light. Fuck it, it’s basically morning no use trying to sleep again.

     Walking into the antechamber I’m hit by a block of cold air. This is the first time I’ve walked into this room in the morning before some lit the fire for me. Weird.

     The door at the other side of the room. “Your majesty?” Frank asks, fully dressed, carrying a basket of sticks. “I heard you talking, I didn’t realise you were awake.”  

     His formal tone suggests someone is nearby so I just nod and walk over and sit in my hair. It’s cold and chills me through my nightclothes. Frank walks slowly over to the fire and seconds later Patrick appears in the doorway. I nod to him and he comes over and sits opposite me. He looks exhausted and nervous. He fiddles with his sleeves and clears his throat several times before speaking, “you’re awake early, your majesty.”

     “So are you, Patrick.”

     “Is there a reason you’re awake?” I raise my eyebrow and shake my head. “No dreams about the journey today?”

     “What’s all this about?”

     “Nothing, I know you’re nervous. And the lords are worried you’ll call it off last minute…” Oh. Nice fucking confidence in your king. “No offence was meant.”

     “It is a little bit offensive though,” I say, it sounds like a hiss. “Sorry. Just… get everyone up and ready them, we leave in two hours.”  
     “We’re leaving in four, though. I thought that’s what you said.”

     “We’re burning daylight if we wait for then. I’m up now, let’s just go.”

 

I’m tired already and the capital city walls are only just out of sight. And I’m not even doing anything except sitting in the carriage as we bump along down the South Road.

    Patrick sits across from me reading a list. The bags under his eyes are dark enough to be the night sky. I guess he must still feel under a lot of pressure, we’re not at the next castle yet, and in a jewelled carriage like this, we’re basically always in danger.

     When the messenger arrived from my uncle, saying he refused to return Mikey because it “wasn’t safe”, I lost my shit and it was Patrick who fixed everything for me. He planned our route, notified the lords we’ll be staying with, and wrote back to my uncle. All in four and a half days. Between him and Josh they could probably run the country without me. I’m basically just here to look pretty. If even.

     He’s still planning even now. I lean back against the carriage wall just as we hit a bump in the road and my head whacks against the other side, “shit,” I whisper.

     “Are you okay, your maj-… Gerard?” I don’t know why he struggles with using my actual name. “Sorry, Gerard. It’s a formality I got used to.”

     “Oh, yea it’s okay.” _Why do I just say shit?_ “And I’m okay. Bumpy road is all.”

     “Very.”

     “Indeed.”

      He nods and looks back down at the list again. I stare out the window as the world goes by.

     I wish Frank was here.

     He must be near the very back with the stuff, watching my clothes.

 

The sunset is visible just beyond the castle town. It’s all on top of the green hill over the forest. Patrick has finished reading his list, for the millionth time, and is now staring nervously at the horizon. We’re almost there but we’re not out of the woods yet. In the most literal sense.

     The castle belongs to Sir Trohman’s father and they’ll be waiting for us with hot food, and drink, and a bed. My back hurts from the jolting of the carriage and I really just want to sleep.

     I open my mouth to make a comment about one of those issues when the carriage comes to an abrupt halt. Patricks eyes open wider than is healthy and I begin to feel his panic. Outside is the sound of men shouting and horses screaming. Patrick closes the window shutters quickly. There is sounds of metal on metal and arrows flying through the air. No doubt we’re under attack, but where is it coming from? Has it hit us from the side, or have they already ploughed up through Frank? Or down through my knights?

    Something crashes against the edge of the carriage. Not hard enough to be someone trying to tip us over. More like the force of dead weight falling. I hope it’s not one of mine.

    Across from me Patrick’s face is the epitome of terror. Neither of us are really ready to defend ourselves. In fact I have never so much as attempted to fight someone and looking at him, I don’t think Patrick has either.

    The fighting continues for what feels like a lifetime. Finally a horn sounds from god knows where and the sounds of clashing metal begins to fade. Soon there’s only some wails of pain and the sound of arrows hitting leaves.

     After a few seconds a rapid knock comes from outside. “Your majesty?”

     Sounds like Pete. “Yes?”

     “It’s Pete, are you two alright?”

     “Fine,” I unlock it and push open the door. He’s standing holding his sword, looking up at us. He has a superficial wound on his arm and he looks nervous. “We’re okay. Will you tell everyone to carry on if it’s safe and come join us?” Pete nods and begins yelling.

    He clambers into the carriage as it begins to move off. Before he’s even seated properly I ask, “What the fuck just happened?”

   “Bandits,” he says scooting around. “They attacked from behind, someone in the closet carriages saw someone in the trees and raised the alarm before they had a chance to surprise us. They shot at us though, killed my fucking horse. That was a nice horse.”

     “That was a nice horse,” Patrick echoes absently.

     Pete nods, “Yup and now it’s dead. We lost one man, Sir Browen, but they lost a lot more so it’s okay. Ish. Actually that’s not really okay. But we caught one of them.”

     “Why?” I ask, sounding way more shocked than I feel. “What the fuck are we going to do with one of them?”

     Pete shrugs. “Hand him over to the marshals here, see if they can extract the whereabouts of rest of them. They’re very bold this close to the town.”

     “It is thick woods, though,” I point out, looking through the window, almost expecting to see a face or an arrow aimed at me. “We’re nearly there now, right?”

    Patrick and Pete nod at the same. I sigh and lean back a little bit. The road is still too uneven to lean back. I begin wonder if the person who raised the alarm was Frank. If it is, I really hope he’s okay. Pete says we only lost Browen but I don’t know whether he’d even count a servant’s death as a notable casualty.

     We continue onwards up the hill and I can see the forest slowly thin out and turn to sloping fields of sheep and crops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Hang 'em High")  
> OKAY I'M SO SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG COMING. School has taken up all my time. And it's exhausting me so much that i go to bed as soon as I'm finished my homework most days. Sometimes that's at like 7 pm. And then on the weekends my friends make me be social and I'm never available to write I am soooooo sorry guys! Seriously, i know how fucking annoying it is to read a fic that's updated this slow.  
> Thank you for sticking with it if you have, and I'll try to update soon. xoxoE


	14. Let Me Be The One To Save You

POV: Frank

 

My arm is fucking _screaming._ I want to find Gerard, to let him know I’m okay. I know he’s okay, if any harm had come to the king everyone would be losing their collective shit and I doubt we would have carried on to this castle so calmly.

     We get fed a half an hour after we enter the castle walls. I’m currently sitting on the grand marble steps in the entry hall with a bowl of stew balanced on my knee. Next to me a young woman is bandaging my arm. It seriously fucking hurts.

     I saw the fucker when he moved from behind one tree to another. He saw me see him and tried to shoot me before I got to shout up to driver. Everyone stopped and started fighting then while I just dipped down between two wooden chests and tried to stop my upper arm from bleeding where he shot it. They only took the fucking arrow out after I arrived here.

     “How does that feel now sir?” The girl asks, tying off the end of the bandage.

     “Sore, but thank you.” She smiles weakly and drifts off to see who else needs bandaging. No one was seriously hurt, except for that one dead knight, he’s not looking to good.

     A loud slam makes me jolt around to look at the opposite side of the room. Gerard storms out of what seems to be a study, and waltzes across toward the stairs. He looks pissed. He spots me and “Ah, Frank! You’re okay! Oh no your arm?” His face softens. “No one knew,” he darts a look at the lords around him, Lord Joseph Trohman, his son Sir Joe, Patrick, and another I don’t recognise. “No one could tell me if the only man in my personal service was alive,” he looks nervous. His lips are set in a firm line and I know he’s concentrating on being quiet.

     “I am okay, your majesty. Your concern is very gracious,” I smile down at his feet. He nods and the lords shoo him along. I nod back but he’s gone.

     The rest of the day for me is spent exploring the halls, out of sight. It’s much smaller than the royal palace, but arguably more grand. It’s very lush and no stone goes undersigned. Quite different form the rows upon rows of plain stone and wood in the capital.

     When darkness falls I follow his clothes chest and personal prie dieu up to his loggings. He gets Lord Trohman’s room, which is understandable, he is the king, and I get a pallet by his bed. When I arrive he’s pacing the room mumbling. The service men leave his chest at the foot of the huge bed and they leave his prie dieu in the corner. Honestly I have no idea why we bring that around with us, it’s so fancy and ornate and in all my time working for him I have never seen the king kneel at it. In fact, I have never seen the King pray at all. Maybe he only carries it for show, to keep people believing that he believes. Or maybe he does believe, just never prays. Either way it hit me in face several times when we were travelling here so I wish we’d left it at home.

     Gee turns to me several seconds after the men leave. His face is flushed and his eyes are nervous. “What’s wrong,” I whisper, adding “your majesty,” in case anyone is in earshot.

     “I’m nervous Frankie. Today was the first day on the road and we got attacked.”

     “In fairness, you were fairly well decked out with your carriage…”

     He sighs, “You probably won’t believe me but it’s the only carriage we have. My father spent all the transport fund on it.” I can’t help it and burst out laughing. “It’s not funny,” he says, a smile playing in his eyes.

     “No come on that’s hilarious,” I gasp, “your father spent all the carriage money on one, massive, jewel inlaid, gold, fucking bandit magnet.”

     He smirks faintly, “yea, okay. It’s a little pathetic.”

     I nod at him, grinning like a loon. Royalty are so mad.

     “But either way, it was a bad start.”

     “A shit start.”  
     “Very shit start. And I’m nervous about camping tomorrow night.”

     “Wait, that’s tomorrow night?”

     “And the night after. The next castle isn’t for a very long time, Frank,” he grimaces, “and that stupid fucking carriage will draw so much attention. If bandits had the nerve to attack us _this_ close to Trohman’s, they’ll be pretty shameless if we’re camping, without a wall.”

 

The road the next day is even bumpier than the last. At one point the wheel of gets caught in a pothole and in trying to pull it out the fucking prie dieu jumps up and hits me in the nose; which doesn’t stop bleeding for another fifteen minutes.

     I have my eyes constantly on the trees, in case there’s a repeat of yesterday. Gerard was so nervous this morning as I helped him dress. I resorted to holding him for a prolonged period of time before handing him the day’s chemise. I understand why he’s nervous, as a king he is after all, incredibly ransom-able. No one would really bother with me unless I was in their way.

     And that rotten carriage isn’t helping conceal his identity.

     He left me that morning to dine with the lords. I overhear Lord Trohman beg him to stay another day as I passed. I can hear both Patrick and Gee brush him off saying they have a tight schedule and will be spending longer on their way back.

    Gee just wants his brother back. I guess that’s totally understandable, especially if his uncle is all that he claims. I’d want my brother back, if we had any relationship worth retrieval. It was clear after the third attempt at correspondence that Mikey just wasn’t getting his letters so hearing nothing from him, Gerard is anxious about his treatment. I tried to tell him that his uncle would hardly harm him but Gerard was having none. He’s convinced his uncle is some kind of psychological abuser that will be able to fuck Mikey up in the head.

     Sometimes I wonder how my brothers are doing. We passed through my old village yesterday but I didn’t see them, or my mother or sister. I saw the priest, however, and he seemed confused by the royal crest on my chest. He didn’t say anything to me, I nodded at him after a while and he turned away.

     We hit another pothole. “Motherfucker,” I mumble as my ankle gets scraped along a wooden box. Then we come to an abrupt stop and I hear people shouting. I try not to panic, expecting an attack, and crawl under the tarp to ask the driver what’s wrong.

     “The bridge…” he gasps and I follow his stare. Jumping down and breaking into a sprint, I don’t even have time to think. In the middle of the bridge, stuck, is Gerard’s insanely ornate carriage. Beyond them there is no more bridge, and behind them bridge is unsteadily creaking. The river below is hundreds of feet down and white with rapids. The entire thing looks like a painting of a modern biblical tragedy.

    When I reach the foot of the bridge I get an even better view of the disaster. All the planks have broken away from the front of the bridge, all that’s left is the swaying beams. About seven meters out is the carriage, lodged in a mix of planks and beams. Downstream I see the wreckage of a wagon tossed against some sharp rocks. I shudder at the thought of the men who may have been brought with it. And all the horses… Ahead of Gerard’s carriage the horses are gone, the wooden harnesses snapped. In fact, ahead of Gerard’s carriage is nothing at all until the bank.

    “Frank?” Gerard calls from the carriage window. He looks petrified. I see some knights testing the beams reaching toward them. I run over and yank one back.

    “Are you crazy?” I hiss.

    “We need to save the king,” he splutters. I guess he’s confused as to why anyone would try stop them.

    “You’re too heavy,” I point out, he’s about six foot four high and two foot wide and completely covered in metal. Chain mail and armour. He probably weighs more than the carriage. “I’ll go across,” I say before my thoughts have even formed.

     “And do what?” the knights ask aghast.

     “What were you going to do? Carry them out? I’ll guide them down onto the beam, do we have rope?” Someone runs off for rope. Why are they even listening to me?

     The bridge groans loudly.

     “Fuck,” I whisper. “Who’s strong but small?” I ask.

     A knight I recognise, Sir Hurley, raises his hand.

    “Take off your plate armour, quick. And the chain mail.” Why do they dress like this all the time? He’s free of the metal by the time the other knight comes back with a rope. I grab it and wrap it around Hurley’s waist. “Okay you stand here on this beam, it looks the safest. Okay, I’m going to tie the other end around the King and help him across, okay?” I repeat the word okay an unnecessary amount of times before Hurley nods and we run over to where the beams stick out of the ground. He sits down, wrapping his legs tightly around the beam, anchoring himself.

    As I begin slowly edging my way along the beam I suddenly become aware of how dangerous this is. I glance down and freeze. The water is so far away and moving so quickly that were I to somehow survive the fall, there is no way I’d survive long after that. Gulping back this horrible realisation, I walk forward again.

    I reach the carriage at last and use the side of it to steady myself. It’s tilted really steeply, the opposite side’s door blocked by the beam. “Frankie,” Gerard gasps, “please help get us out. Please”

    “Why else would I be here,” I try to smile but I’m too terrified. Back on the opposite bank everyone is staring. They look so far away oh god. Hurley nods at me and points at the rope. I nod back. “Okay Gee I need you to climb down onto this beam with me.”  
     “Will it support our weight?”

     “It already is. The weight of the carriage too. The thing is clearly heavy though so get the fuck down here now.” He nods and shakily manoeuvres himself to sit on the step. With his eyes closed and his entire being shaking, Gee lowers himself onto the beam. He gulps when is feet hit it but never opens his eyes. “Okay I’m going to wrap this around you now,” I say, tying the rope around his waist. You’ll be okay now but you need to open your eyes.” He shakes his head violently. “Gerard, you won’t fall if you see where you’re going, but with your eyes closed you’ll find yourself in close quarters with the river.”

     Slowly he opens his eyes. Gerard is a naturally pale person, but right now he looks practically translucent. I take his hand, lightly, and begin to walk slowly along the beam. I’m ready to let go if I lose my footing. That’s a pretty morbid thought. I swallow it back and make my way across.

    It feels like a millennium before we get to Hurley. He helps the king onto land and unties him. The skeleton of the bridge groans heartily as I make my way back over. _At least Gee is safe_. I reach the carriage slightly faster this time. I edge my way to the door and look in. Standing terrified on one of the seats is Patrick. “Is the king okay?” he croaks.

     “The king is fine, my lord. I need you to come with me now.”

     He nods but stands still. “Okay, Earl Patrick, forgive me, but this isn’t exactly a safe place to chill like that. Will you come with me now before this goddam gold carriage pulls us down?”

     He shakes his head and then nods. Slowly, he makes his way onto the step and lowers himself down to the beam. There is a shaky surge beneath us and a groan that does not sound good. I quickly tie the rope tightly around the earl’s waist and take his hand.

    We make it about two meters away from the carriage when I hear a terrible crack. I quickly let go of Patrick’s hand.

    And then everything slowed down. Another loud crack signalled the beams on the other side giving away and letting the carriage fall. The sudden relief of weight sends an incredible tremor through the beams, knocking Patrick and I off.

     I hear a scream and I’m not sure if it came from me or not. I fall.

    When my senses return I see Patrick above me, swaying side to side. It takes me a second to realise I’m no longer falling. Under me is a cross section of the bridge’s support beams. Above me I can hear Gerard screaming something, but the rushing of the water drowns him out. I yell back, doubting my audibility.

     Patrick, while being lifted upwards glances down toward me. He starts yelling to the others. Then he’s gone.

     Everything I see and feel suddenly begins to come into focus. Like a bubble of shock around me has just popped. My arm is in incredible pain. I must have hit the wound off a beam as I fell. I’m perched in the bridges unstable latticework of buttresses about half way down. Across from me is    one support beam and then nothing.

      I hear a yell. Looking up, Hurley is peering over the ledge. He yells again. It might be my name, might be anything really. Seconds later the rope comes flying down. It lands a few feet to my left.

     I reach across to it, balancing myself on another supporting buttress. This is insane. I grab the rope and hold onto it tightly. It’s not long enough for me to be able to tie it around myself. I pull on it and it begins to rise. Oh god my _arm._ It’s as I’m rising that I realise a particularity about the beam I was leaning on. It’s black. Like it’s been scorched somehow. I twist to look back at it and then remember that I’m holding onto a rope for dear life and just focus on that.

     Sir Hurley’s face is bright red when he grabs my wrists. He hauls me onto the beam to the claps of everyone. We scoot along to the bank. I have to refrain from making out with the ground when I reach it. Gerard pulls me up and goes to hug me when I step back. His face falls and he stands up straight. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and then louder “Thank you, you sir have saved my life and the life of the Earl, Patrick.” Everyone cheers. “I am aware that you also notified the train of the bandits. To repay you for the twice now you have saved my life I’d like to promote to my personal equerry.” Everyone cheers again.

     “Your majesty is too kind,” I say. I wonder what an equerry even is. I’ll ask later.

     “You’re most welcome sir. You will now travel with me,” he smiles before turning to everyone else. “My lords, we must begin searching for another way across the river immediately if we are to camp somewhere out of the woods tonight.” He turns to Patrick who runs off probably to sort new transport for them, I mean us.

    Before Gerard can walk away I grab his wrist, “Gee look,” I whisper, extending my hand. Sure enough it is black with soot. “This happened when I touched a beam down there.”

    His eyes widen and his mouth parts ever so slightly. “Don’t say another word until we’re in private. Let’s go sort out a new carriage for us, I can’t ride horses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Bulletproof Heart")  
> Howdy my darlings. I wrote this chapter to try and cheer myself up as opposed to doing homework. I've had a p shitty day so I'm blaring patd and drinking an unhealthy amount of coffee.   
> Btw I've come up with an idea for a new fic (mafia/gang AU which includes Joe Trohman as a shitty lawyer, Brendon Urie as a dodgy senator, Patrick Stump as crime journalist who is trying to uncover the underground workings of the mafias, and lynn gunn as an ex-detective law student... And yea frerard too. The forbidden and unlikely love kind which may have some tragic aspects... I got really excited about the idea in one of my classes today and wrote out the plan on my arm in red ink :3) so I'll busy for a long while with fics no matter.  
> Anyway, though i should have been doing all the schoolwork i will no doubt get in shit for, here is a (rather long) update! I hope you like it, and thank you to everyone for your darling comments and kudos, it means so much <3 the next update may not be as rapid as this, so if you have spare time and like frerard in all sorts of AUs you should srsly check out my other fics... (no shame self promoting, sorry)  
> xoxoE


	15. Counting Your Face Among The Living

POV: Gerard

 

Having Frank as my equerry makes things a lot easier. People who didn’t know that he was ever a servant seem to feel comfortable around him. Most of the knights see him still as a jumped up peasant and are pretty jealous of him being in my favour, but no one questions it. He has, after all, saved my life three times now.

    We’re currently only a few hours from my uncle’s, it’s been a fucking long and treacherous journey south. First there was the bandits. Then, I thought after the bridge our bad luck had run out; but just two nights ago was the fire.

    Frank keeps trying to tell me that this is more than coincidence and that the bridge looked scorched. But how could the bridge be fucking scorched, it’s over _water._ Fire can’t be set on _water._ I’m worried about him because he seems pretty convinced of it and the medicine they gave him for the pain in his arm only makes it worse. He’s suspicious and nervous, all the time.

    Though, the more he begins to say about it the more weird the fire begins to seem. We were all fast asleep. That night all the knights and lords seemed to be fast asleep, even the ones on guard. Frank tries to tell me that’s not by chance too.

     We were all fucking exhausted after the days of riding and as soon as we ate, we all went to bed. I had managed to convince Frank to share mine for the first time that night. But not really in the way I wanted.

     “You look tired, Frankie,” I yawned.

     “You’re not looking to energetic yourself.”

     “How’s your back? This carriage fucking jolts me to shit.” He nodded, yawning. “Maybe you should get a proper night’s sleep in a proper bed.” I was already in my nightclothes, sitting on my portable featherbed. Frank stood before me half in his nightclothes and it took all my effort to keep my eyes open and look at him. I guess the days’ travels all caught up to me.

    “Just close your eyes, Gee.”

    “Please sleep with me?” my eyes were fighting against me now and I barely understood what was happening when suddenly Frank was beside me, pushing me down onto the bed. I struggled against my eyelids as he kisses up along my neck. Of all times to be getting so exhausted.

    He pins my arms against the bed and I kiss him back a bit, still exhausted.  Then I just, passed out. Too tired to even make out and possibly more, with Frank. In retrospect, fuck you, body.

    Understandably Frank had begun panicking until he heard me snore. Then he just moved me around and tucked us into the bed, cuddling against me until he fell asleep. I am still pissed I missed that.

    I slept so deeply that I wouldn’t have heard the crackling or smelt the smoke. Thankfully Frank wasn’t that deep a sleeper. He woke up to the smell and, again, understandably panicked. He says it took a lot of shouting, shaking, and slapping, for me to come to. When I did, I was really fucking confused and still drowsy, but Frank ripped a hole in the tent and dragged me into the night.

   There we saw our third bout of bad luck. Young fires sprouting on tents and wagons, making a city of flame. Each tongue trying to lick the clouds and sending spouts of smoke to join them. It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t so destructive. Frank left me in the middle, without a word, and ran to try and wake everyone.

    In the end no one was seriously harmed, but we lost all our tents, most of our supplies, and some wagons. It took us three hours the next morning to gather back all the horses, too. They freaked out and broke away whenever it was that the fire began.

    We’re pretty sure the wind carried the campfires onto the flammable tents, but no one saw anything. We were all asleep.

    “Fuck,” Frank whispers as we go over a rut in the road. Every sudden movement reminds Frank’s arm that it’s in pain; and this wagon feels every single thing we ride over. At least we have one, but it’s no fucking carriage. Chests are tied down to the edges to give the illusion of seats but they’re rock hard and every jolt jumps us up and back down onto the hard wood. My ass is going to be killing me.

    “How far are we now,” Frank asks through gritted teeth. “Your majesty?” he adds because we’re travelling with Patrick.

    “About two hours,” I say looking to Patrick to confirm. He nods and clears his throat like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. He’s so awkward around Frank. I can’t tell if it’s just him being uncomfortable around anyone he doesn’t know, or if it’s the class thing. Frank’s also really uncomfortable around Patrick, probably because of classes. It’s like there’s a physical wall between them. If it was just me and Frank, conversation would flow. Same were it just Patrick and I. Stupid rules of respect or whatever the fuck it is.

    We remain in the thick silence for a while. I just interchange from watching the landscape we pass to the expressions on Frank’s face. Every now and again it will scrunch in pain. I wish we’d just get to my uncle’s so people can help him.

    “Um. Don’t worry about me, your majesty,” Frank says, eyes wide. I must have said that out loud. Fuck. I concentrate on the feeling of my mouth being shut. His eyebrows disappear under his hair and I nod at him so as to say I’m concentrating on being quiet.

     His hair has gotten long, I realise looking at where his eyebrows have disappeared. I got mine cut before the journey, but I don’t ever remember Frank ever cutting his. Maybe because he doesn’t get someone to do it, it looks quite uneven and choppy. In fact, he probably takes an axe to it every so often, or something.

    I check myself to make sure I’m still not talking. That would be a weird subject to ponder aloud next to Patrick.

    Pete rides up next to us, “Your majesty, we’re only an hour away.”

    “Quicker than we thought then!” I beam at my companions.

    Frank nods and Patrick says, “Great, thanks Pete.” Pete, grinning, rides on ahead again. Pete grins a lot.

    Then the silence returns. I need to talk about something or I’ll end up talking about Frank’s face and how excellent it looks in this light. I dart my head around, realising my lips are parted, but it doesn’t look like I said anything. “Can’t wait to see Mikey,” I smile. They nod. For fuck sake. I continue, “It will be nice to see him again. It feels like it’s been months.”

    “It’s been almost two, your majesty,” Patrick says.

    “Yes! That, now, that’s a long time.” They look at me quizzically. It feels like trying to spark conversation with firewood. “And… Yes... Do either of you have siblings?”

     Patrick shakes his head. “I do,” Frank says.

     It feels like I have cleverly trapped him in my web of conversation. “Great! Brothers or sisters?”

     “Two brothers and a sister.”

     “Older or younger?”

     “All older.”  
     “Do you miss them?”

     “Rarely.”

     _Shit._ Maybe that’s not the place to go near Patrick.“Ah, I see.”

     He nods.

     And the silence unfolds around us again.

 

The city of Deisceart is an impressive sight. I haven’t been here in years, the buildings are cleaner, higher, and more decorated. We pass through the square where now a statue of my uncle stands in marble. “Narcissistic bastard,” I laugh. Frank and Patrick exchange nervous glances. This is the first time they have communicated at all.

    When we arrive at the castle bridge I can already see my uncle, standing atop the grand steps to his home. He has his arms outstretched like he’s Jesus. They’re still spread when I walk toward him. He doesn’t bow.

    “Welcome, my dear nephew and king.”

    “Hi.”

    His arms are still out, is he expecting a hug or something? He drops his arms. Must have said that aloud, oh well. He bows then and I see in the shadow of the doorway Mikey stands with his arms folded. I scoot around my still bowing uncle and stride at my brother. “I’ve missed you,” I say pulling him into a hug.

    “Oh really?” he hisses, he feels stiff.

    “Yes, of course?” I push away and he raises his eyebrows.

    Behind me I hear Deisceart clear his throat. “You may refresh yourselves now and we’ll all adjourn in the great hall afterwards.” I nod. “Mikey, will you show your brother and his attendants to his room, please?”

     “Of course.”

     Frank and I follow behind Mikey as we walk the twisting decorated halls to our new room. Our, my, room is situated on the top floor of the tallest tower, for some reason, and I’m completely out of breath when I reach it. “Here we are,” Mikey says, monotonous.

    “Mikey?”

    “Yes?”

    “I really have missed you.”

    “Nice to know,” he begins to walk away.

    “Mikey?”

    “I’ll send you hot water will I? You fucking stink, your majesty.” He turns the corner out of sight.

     I groan and hit my head off the chamber door, which, unexpectedly, opens. A presence chamber, and antechamber, and sleeping quarters. The rooms are nice but bare, which means they’re not my uncle’s. At least I know my aunt and uncle haven’t fucked in the bed I have to sleep in.

    “Are you okay, gee?” Frank is standing nervously by the bedpost. I realise I’m standing on the window, looking at the ground below. Fuck I’m high up.

    “Yea I’m okay,” I climb down. “I just… Mikey is fucking pissed with me and it’s not my fault.”

     “Your uncle must have lied to him.”

     “Well, obviously. But I didn’t think he’d believe it.” I groan loudly. “This isn’t fair, what if he won’t come home, and we went through all this for literally nothing.”

    He walks up to me and wraps his arms around me. Despite being really tiny, he is still comforting to hug. He reaches up and kisses me on the cheek, “don’t worry,” he mumbles, “He’ll realise you care pretty quickly.”

 

Frank, with one arm, bathes me and then bathes himself. I forgot that most of the world don’t get washed by someone else, and this is the first time I’ve seen him naked, at all. That fact in itself is weird. He caught me watching him and I got so embarrassed I walked over and stared down, out the window. I shouldn’t get embarrassed about that but it’s _Frank._ Frank _naked._ He doesn’t look how I’d pictured at all. I don’t even know what it is that I pictured because now I’ve _seen._ Frank laughs. Must have said that aloud. “Yea you did,” he grins, standing up, and, oh god.

    I turn away again to hide myself. I could just leave the room. This isn’t fair of him. Not now, not here.

    “Hey what do you mean not fair?” he says, he’s drying himself now. I try not to look straight at him, but I kinda have to look straight at him. “You get undressed in front of me the whole time. You make me help you put pants on, how is that fair?”

    I wonder how red my face is right now. Probably very.

    He laughs, “No need to look so terrified, Gee, it’s alright.” I nod, and then do something drastic. I walk over to him, grab his face and pull him to me. I know he’s grinning, I can feel him grinning, as he kisses me back. And, _oh god,_ I think the towel just fell.

    Neither of us make any move to get it as Frank entwines his hands in my hair and pulls me closer. Yup, no towel.

    I’m careful of his arm as we start slowly moving toward the bed while Frank kisses slowly down my neck and unbuttons my shirt. He pushes me down to sit on the bed; we’re more level in height now. Frank continues to unbutton my chemise until it is completely open. He kisses down to below my collarbones and then his tongue glides slowly down my torso. I can’t help it, I moan.

    He reaches just above my belt and starts sucking gently and kissing. I try not to moan again, probably failing, and just entwine my hands in his hair.

    And then.

    _Fuck._

There’s a knock on the door. Frank jumps up and takes a step back shooting me a terrified look, “One moment,” I croak. I usher Frank under the bed, thankfully the sheets hang low, and I start doing up my chemise as I walk towards the door. Just before I reach the handle I realise I’m still a little bit hard. “I’m just dressing,” I call grabbing the towel off the floor. I drape it over my arm before answering the door.

    “Hi, Patrick,” I say as casually as I can.

    “Hello Gerard,” he looks kind of confused, “oh sorry, um, are you alone?”

    “Yes, I most certainly am.”

    He blushes a little and nods. “Where’s Frank?”

    “Gone to… ask… when I’m to get to… adjourning in the great hall.”

    “I just came from your uncle I didn’t see him.”  
    “He must have gotten very lost, ha,” that laugh sounded fake.

    “Okay… well the meal is shortly, come down as soon as you’re ready.”

    “I sure will,” I say, closing the door. I don’t exhale properly until I hear the door on the far side of the ante chamber slam.

    Frank crawls out from under the bed. He’s still naked. I can’t help it, I begin to laugh. He looks down at himself and starts laughing too. “Oh no, gee,” he gasps between laughs, “he thinks you’re alone in here and he probably heard you moan, you loud motherfucker! Oh fuck, and you fucked up your chemise! You didn’t even button it up right. And you’re hiding yourself with a towel? I bet you’ve scarred the poor Earl!”

    I look down at myself and laugh again. He’s right, I look so messy, and suspiciously poorly dressed. “Oh god, just put some clothes on, Frank. I’m going down now, you follow when you’re dressed. Fucking hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "early sunsets over monroeville" a song which is also the name of a fic I've written, nudge nudge http://archiveofourown.org/works/3131849/chapters/6787928."  
> Howdy my dears. I'm sorry this was slow coming. I've had basically no spare time. Yesterday i wrote two pages (like 1000 words or so) and then my cat unplugged my laptop without me noticing, and when i returned with my tea the whole thing had shut down and I'd lost it all. I was pretty pissed. It's so hard to rewrite something, you know. If i even tell someone the story in detail I won't feel like writing it because it will have been written.  
> Ugh  
> Btw... anyone going to se FOB on Thursday (1st of October) Because I am(!!) It's the Dublin concert at the Arena  
> Right, yes so thank you for reading this and everyone who left kudos ilysm. Same to all those who leave your weet comments you're all such angels <3 I'll try write some tomorrow!   
> XoE


	16. Faith Is Unavailable

POV: Frank

 

I watch from the lower tables as Deisceart questions Gerard on all the events that nearly killed us. Gerard explains calmly though the corner of his mouth is always curled like a dog’s snarl. I’m nervous about him. He keeps gesturing over to me and his uncle every so often glances at me from somewhere under his brow.

    I arrived down here as soon as my hair looked dry. Food was already being served. It feels weird sitting at this long table with the knights, like I’m actual nobility. I know if he could Gerard would make me, but that would look strange to literally everyone.

    Next to Deisceart, on the other side, is the Prince, Michael. He looks sullen and is poking at his potatoes like he’s trying to get them to wake up. Every so often his eyes dart up in worry as Gerard probably says the main part of one of the three stories.

    I wish he’d believe me. I mean, I know what I saw. Those beams were scorched. And that fire couldn’t have just happened. And everyone couldn’t have just happened to be in the deepest sleep imaginable. Except for me. I don’t know why that is.

     The Lord calls musicians and the food is cleared. Some random ladies get up and dance and slowly men join in, the first being Sir Pete Wentz, of course. After a while the King rises and all the ladies try make themselves look as appealing as possible. Gerard nods curtly and offers his hand to his aunt, who is still sitting. She smiles broadly at him and they spin to the floor together.

    “He is such a gentleman,” I hear a young lady say near me. “Asking his own aunt afore any young maiden. How sweet is he?”

    “Incredibly,” her companion sighs. I find myself glaring at them and try to avert my attention. Whatever, Gee is sweet. And handsome. And he’s the king so of course he’ll catch eyes.

    After this dance is over, Deisceart swoops in to take his wife’s hand. Gerard bows and approaches my table. All the ladies begin giggling and altering their stance to look more attractive. Gerard smiles and nods to them and it’s a wonder they didn’t all swoon. Then he passes them and walks directly to me. _Oh no, Gee_.

     He offers me his hand, declaring, “A thank you dance, with my new equerry!” I shoot him a look that says _what the fuck are you trying to do._

     He smiles encouragingly and I have no choice but to take his hand. “I can’t dance,” he whispers in my ear as the music begins.

     Indeed, he can’t dance but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him. Some of the knights begin laughing and clapping, egging the king on in his “gallant male jaunt”.

    The song is fast and lively and there are no intimate parts to it, thank god, but still I can see the mixed reaction from the crowds around us. As Deisceart spins into view I can see him glaring testily at us from over his wife’s head. He seems to be confused and angry. Maybe he was hoping to set Gerard up with one of his nieces or something. Some of the knights are laughing like it’s the funniest thing they have ever seen. Maybe it is, what dull lives they must lead.

     But of course some of the older men and women about are glaring like they’re being faced with the living embodiment of sin.

     Two young boys that must be of page age take to the floor together. At first they dance about merrily, just like Gerard and I (were I not looking around the room panicking), when a young woman runs up and pulls one of them away.

    When the song ends I return awkwardly to my seat and accept all the joking words thrown at me by the knights around me. “You make a very beautiful young lady,” Sir Pete jests. “Don’t mean to be stealing your joke, but I’m so going to steal your joke,” he grins and then smoothly dances over to Mikey. Mikey shakes his head, but he was grinning. First time I’ve seen him look even mildly happy since we arrived. Pete makes a dramatically devastated sigh and glides back over to me. “Oh my poor heart! The most beautiful princess Mikey has denied me a dance!”

     He turns around to the ladies, “would one of you fair maidens help it mend by dancing with me this next dance?” He smiles at them and this time one does swoon. The others all eagerly extend their hands. Pete picks one toward the front and they take to the floor. Gerard’s aunt is returning to her seat as her husband takes the hand of a really young looking lady. Gerard himself takes the hand of another maiden by the edge of the room.

     I just sit back and watch. The rest of the evening is spent in the cups as everyone gets merrier and the dances get less precise.

 

“The Archbishop is on his way,” Deisceart says, making Gerard fumble and miss his hit. It’s a really bright day and Deisceart insisted we all go and play croquet in his rose gardens.

    “When did you find that out?” Gerard asks standing up straight. He’s surprisingly good at croquet.

    “A rider arrived yesterday. Saying the holy procession was four days away. I thought it was one of your riders, I was sadly mistaken.” Mikey purses his lips and knocks Gerard’s ball off the playing field with his own. Gerard sighs.

    “I guess you’ll want us to wait until the Archbishop arrives before we leave,” Gerard says as Patrick fucks up his shot completely.

    “I prefer the word “stay” to “wait”,” Deisceart smiles. “I’m sure the Archbishop wishes to speak with you.” He lines up his shot and gets it just to the left of the wicket. “We have plenty of activities planned.”

    Gerard rolls his eyes and then smiles at me as I walk over to my ball. I’ve never played this before. It’s not exactly a popular game in the countryside. I grew up playing games like “tag”, “tip the can”, and “kick Frank”. Though I’m told that last one was very exclusive to my village. I try line up the ball like Deisceart did and end up hitting it way too hard.

    “So tell me,” Deisceart says watching me stalk away. “Where are you from, Frank? What family?”

    “He’s from the Bearna area,” Gerard says for me.

    “Part of the DeLacey family?”

    “I was a farmer’s son, my lord, on DeLacey land,” I reply for myself.

    “Oh really,” Deisceart’s eyebrows elevate. “My nephew just took a liking to you did he?”

     “He was the only man in my personal service,” Gerard says quickly. “And then he saved my life thrice.”

    “And so you took a liking to him. Nothing criminal about that.” He looks sternly at Gerard, making the whole game pause. “I took a liking to Ms Eleanor Woodrow, over there, after she performed a lifesaving manoeuvre on my wife as she choked. Nothing sinful about her rise to favour unless I make it so.” The way his eyes stared through Gerard’s made me feel like he was reading his mind.

    Gerard’s face is one of concentration, I watch the way his mouth forms around his next words and I know it wasn’t just a slip of the tongue, “Indeed, a rise in favour of a man who saved the lives of my men and I so often, could hardly be sinful. However the rise of a pretty face to prettier sheets cans always be questioned.” With that Gerard spins around and taps his ball all the way from the field’s edge through a wicket.

 

The next three days pass in ignored tension. Gerard and Deisceart argue constantly but always in a calm, cold way. At every opportunity Deisceart questions me and talks down to me. I know he does it just so he can watch Gerard’s reaction.

    Which is too much. He just reacts too much. Any other time he is cool and sharp but he gets way too defensive over me and I know Deisceart and Mikey can see it.

    When Deisceart questions Patrick the same way, Gee just reacts in a witty matter, saving Patrick from freaking the fuck out, but it’s clearly not the same.

    “You need to be more careful, Gee,” I say, “Your brother and uncle have obviously noticed how much you lose it over me. And I’m your servant.”

    “You’re my equerry.”

    “I was a _farmer._ ”

    “And now you’re my lover.”

    “Gee…” I don’t really know how to tell him that he can’t say things like that out loud. Someone could hear.

    “What?”

    “You just said that out loud.”

    He sits down on his bed heavily. “I know.” He sighs. “This is really hard, Frankie. I literally have to concentrate on being quiet all the time because if I speak my thoughts I’ll just be talking about you.”

    I walk over and sit beside him. It’s getting very late and Gerard is visibly exhausted, but I want to stay up talking. I want to talk until I know he will act towards me at least the same as Patrick, when we’re in public.

    But instead of talking through this Gerard pulls me into him and kisses me. Okay, this is working against the goal of hiding us. But he kisses me so hungrily I know he really has been thinking about it all day.

    I hold the back of his neck and kiss him back, trying to be as quiet as possible. Gerard pulls back, “sleep with me tonight.”

    “Gee, we _can’t_ do that here.”

    “Yes we can.”

    “No.”

    “Frankie, please.”

    “Fuck, Gerard,” he pulls me into him again and this time he leans over me, his hands on my chest. My hands reach around to his chemise and begin unbuttoning it, “I’m just doing my job,” I whisper between kisses, “I’m not agreeing to lie with you.”

     I push him back onto the bed and sit over him, sliding his chemise off. Then I realise what I’m doing and sit up straight. “Sorry, Gee, it’s not safe.” I kiss him once more before walking off in search of his nightgown.

 

Gerard and the Archbishop, Tyler Joseph, go into long talks that afternoon and I’m left to spend awkward quality time with Mikey, Patrick, Deisceart, and several knights. We’re going to play gambling games in Deisceart’s private chamber while Ms Eleanor Woodrow reads to us from the bible. Without Gerard this feels like it’s going to be torturous.

    “So, Frank,” Deisceart says taking his seat at the top of the six sided gambler’s table, “do you know any card games?”

    “No, my Lord. I know none.”

    “You’ve never played cards before?” Mikey asks, astounded.

    “No, my prince.”

    “Of course he hasn’t, Michael. Peasants don’t have cards.” Deisceart smiles at me. The way he just said that feels like being punched in the stomach. He’s reminding everyone at the table I’m a peasant. “Of course,” he continues, “we will not take advantage of your ignorance on the matter. We’ll start with a very simple game. This is called progressive rummy.”

    I lose at every game we play. Not surprising, they didn’t even tell me all the rules at first, they just added some as we went along. I was getting fed up but I wasn’t exactly in the position to say so and just leave. Behind me Eleanor Woodrow has begun singing along with a young man on the harp. She is the only girl in the room.

    “Fair Eleanor,” Deisceart calls over his shoulder, “Sing that sweet song about the Lord who married too soon.”

    Ms Eleanor nods and the harp stops. She then begins singing a song about a Lord who married before he could meet his true love, a young lady a third of his age. That’s a little disgusting when you realise it’s how he thinks about her. She must be my age if not younger.

    When she finishes the song Deisceart turns to us, smiling dreamily. “Such a sweet voice, and only fifteen. You may go now, Eleanor, and treat with my wife.” Eleanor stands and curtsies before scuttling away. Deisceart smiles in her wake and I can actually feel my skin crawl. I guess other people showing affection grosses me out. Or maybe it’s the age gap, he is old enough to be her father. Or even her grandfather. “One more game and we’ll go visit the ladies!” He announces.

 

Gerard continues talks with the Archbishop throughout supper so I was left to eat with just Mikey and Deisceart. That was awkward. Mikey is so uncomfortable around me. Or maybe just around everyone, in the way Patrick is. We were only finishing when Gerard marched into the room. His eyes were sad but his mouth was contorted into a tight lipped smile. “Good evening.”

    “How are you, your majesty?” Deisceart says through his wine.

    “Fine, uncle. I am ready to retire now and I require my personal server,” Gerard replies laying his hands on my shoulders and leaning slightly into me.

    “I see,” Deisceart lowers his cup, “I enjoyed your company, Fran. We shall treat again tomorrow then. Good night.”

    I nod my excuses and follow Gerard swiftly from the room. We’re silent as we climb the tower to our chambers. Gerard looks exhausted, probably from concentrated silence all day. We do not speak until we reach the bed chamber.

    “I’ve had such an awful day,” Gerard says, falling face first onto his bed. “Oh man it’s so tiresome being so pious. You know how many times the poor archbishop blessed himself because of things I said? Forty two. I counted.”

    I sit down beside him and pat his back, “I’m sorry it was so strenuous, Gee.”

    “Do you know Eleanor Woodrow?”

    “Um, yes? She was reading the bible and singing for us all day. Why?”

    “At first my uncle wanted her to marry me, but now he wants her for my brother. She’s to inherit a castle down here so he obviously just wants them to marry to keep Mikey down here. Little bastard.”

    “I don’t think that’s the only reason,” I say before I even full form the thought that’s based on.

    “What do you mean?”

    “I think your uncle wants her.”  
    “What?” He rolls over.

    “In the way that I want you. Like, it’s not supposed to happen and the bible hates it, but he wants her. And if Mikey is under his thumb it’s easier to get her. In his bed.” Maybe he doesn’t, why am I just saying this. Gerard gags and sits up straight wincing.

    “That’s fucking disgusting,” he says, and gags again. “What makes you think that?”

     “Just the way he acted today about her. He made her sing “the Lord’s secret” and stared at her while she did.”

    “Ew, fuck. If he makes them marry than Mikey would fuck the same girl as my uncle, constantly, oh god that’s so disgusting! And ew, fuck, she’s like, half half his age!”

     “Give or take a few years.”

    “Oh god, gross. Fuck. Ew. I need to think about something else immediately or I’m going to vomit.”

     I sigh and walk over to his clothes chest and grab his night gown. “Just think about how soon we’re going to leave.”

    “Not soon enough,” he grimaces, unbuttoning his chemise. I walk over to him and take his shirt off the rest of the way but when I try to hand him his nightgown he just tosses it aside. “Tonight, please, Frankie.”

     I sigh. He asks this every night and I hate having to continuously being the one to say no. Because the last time I said yes Patrick walked in and the time before that we nearly got set on fire. I think fate is trying to get me to say no. “You know we can’t.”

    “You always just say no.”

    “Yes.”

     “Yes you will?”

     I nod once. I know I shouldn’t but I do. Maybe because I wasn’t concentrating enough on the word “no”, or maybe because I felt safer than the past few times. Either way he is unbuttoning my shirt so fast it’s like he’s trying to keep me from even possibly saying no again.

    I grab him and almost too roughly force him onto his back on the bed. He gasps a little into my ear as I begin kissing him on the neck. And then he slides of my pants.

     I continue kissing him and he starts mumbling into my ear, “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this, for you?” He runs his hand slowly down from my chest to bellow my navel. I shiver under his touch. The tower is quiet but I know I won’t be, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

    But then he reaches down between my legs and runs his hand slowly down my length and never mind, this is definitely a good idea. I moan quietly and Gerard whispers to me again, “Have you been looking forward to this too, Frankie? I know you have by how hard you are for me already.” He then starts kissing my neck and continues to slowly move his hand along me.

   I moan again and Gee grins into my neck.

   And then he stops.

   And I stop.

   As a knock raps on the door, “every fucking time,” I mumble as Gerard shouts, “Do not come in!”

   I’ve just rolled off him, my pants still down to my knees, when the door opens.

    Gerard gasps jumping up as the Archbishop appears in the doorway staring wide eyed. Gerard, shirtless and pants low on his hips runs in front of him as he falls to the ground, feinting.

    “Fuck!” Gerard spits to me. He turns to the pile of crimson cloth on the floor that is the Archbishop. “Fuck!” he gasps louder gesturing to him. “Frank pull up your pants and help me move him out of the door!”

    I shake my head and jump up. My mind is a flurry of thoughts. Oh god, fate… Just, fuck you fate. I pull my pants on but by the time I have one side of the Archbishop and Gerard has the other, his eyes are fluttering open.

    “What happened,” he says slowly looking into Gerard’s eyes. The second he sees below his neck, however, it’s clear he remembers. “Heaven!” he crosses himself. “What a sin, what a sin! Your majesty!”

    “Your grace, shut the fuck up for a minute we need to explain,” Gerard says, panicking. I nod along, also panicking.

    This is so bad, oh fuck, oh no.

    “What is there to explain? I have witnessed a great sin!”  
    “No you haven’t shut up,” Gerard moans and shuts the door, guarding it.

    “Let me go,” the Archbishop gasps, struggling from my grasp.

    “Tyler, your grace, listen, you can’t leave until we’ve explained.” The archbishop looks horrified. His eyes are wide and wild and he’s obviously struggling with the fact the king still has authority over him.

   “I…” he just blesses himself again.

   “Stop doing that, alright?” Gerard hisses, “Tell me, your grace where does the bible say that is sin?”

    “Leviticus 18:22, "You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female; it is an abomination”.” He doesn’t even seem to have to think about it.

    “Okay, but a man does not lie with a man the way he lies with a woman, it is impossible. Of course it would be an abomination if he did. Because the man wouldn’t be a man, with the lady genitalia required by that act.” Gerard looks like he is calming down a little. He speaks so matter-of-factly and I’m still in _freak the fuck out_ mode.

    “Leviticus 20:13, "If there is a man who, um, lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death. Their bloodguiltness is upon them”.” Tyler is shaking. I’m shaking. This is all very unsettled.

    “Yes, Leviticus had a lot to say about it. But again, a man isn’t formed the way a woman is so it can’t happen, as he says. Your grace, I have spent many months in deep spiritual trouble over this fact, I really have. I only found solace in the fact that I were able to study the bible, and find where it’s said to be wrong, and all the places it has been misinterpreted. Your grace, before you condemn me, and god forbid, sentence me to death, wilt you not help me? Help me find a way to discover where the sin truly lies? Please don’t shun me in the face of god but instead help Him understand me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Planetary (Go)")  
> Yo my dears. So this is an incredibly long chapter, by my usual standards, no wonder it took three days. But i needed this last bit to happen now if the story is to move along the way it is. So, indeed, let me know what you think, and what you think will happen next! (Also I'm sorry the smut is constantly cut short in really unfortunate ways. And sorry if Tyler Joseph seems homophobic, but like, he's the archbishop in this for all intents and purposes I do not believe the real dude is.)  
> Thank you for reading and I shall update swiftly, i hope  
> XoE


	17. Suffer All The Children And Walk Away A Saviour

 

POV: Frank

 

Gerard counters every argument the Archbishop throws. And slowly I think I can see Tyler’s face soften. I’ve put my shirt back on and am sitting on Gerard’s bed, watching the Archbishop and the King take turns pacing and sitting.

    “I…” the Archbishop who was walking around, sits down in front of Gerard by the fire. “I want to believe you, your majesty, but…My whole life I have studied the bible… It’s just said to be wrong. I don’t know how it could be right.”

    “I am not sinner, your grace. I have lived my life by God’s word. Does the bible not say to love thy neighbour?”

    “Not like this!”

    “No, but should you not love all people, despite their choices in life?”

    “You’re making it hard to understand where I should stand.”  
    “Then don’t take any stance yet. Come back to the capitol with us and help me study the bible. Be the next biblical revolutionary. Redefine the passages that have been so wrongly misinterpreted. Please, Tyler?”

    The archbishop drops his head into his hands. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Yes, okay. Let’s go back quickly. All the great texts are in my study in the capitol. We’ll leave soon, then. I will be the one to save your soul, your majesty” He’s facing us now and his eyes have gotten weirdly shiny. “I admit parts of the holy text have not been fully understood and I will be the one to reinterpret, for you and your honour.”

    He gets up to walk away and Gerard lays a hand on his arm, “you won’t tell anyone yet though, your grace?”

    “My only confidante is God.”

    “Okay, thank you.”

    “All I ask is that I can be yours? I don’t like to think of you worrying about your soul when I could help.”

    Gerard smiles warmly, “That means a lot.”

    The Archbishop smiles and stands. After a moment of awkwardly smiling at the king, he leaves.

     Gerard lets out a long sigh, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did, that was tense. “I can’t believe that panned out,” he says after a while.

     “I don’t think he ever wanted to persecute you, Gee. I think he was just torn between allegiances, and you gave him a way out,” I reply, from the bed. Gee smiles up at me. The fire is behind him flickering magically. Lighting up individual strands of hair and making them look like silver. His face is flickering shades of shadows. I force myself to speak again, so I stop staring at him. “You went incredibly kingly there. More like a lawyer than a king, even.”

     “Thanks, Frankie,” he grins, “I was basically saving our heads for our necks. By the way, I was thinking about something.”

    “Yea?”

    “I wanna tell Mikey about us.”

    “Gee…”

    “No listen. He’s pissy with me now but once we get him out of here we- I, can really begin reversing what my uncle told him. He’ll understand. He’s my brother, and I think it would be helpful to have someone else in the know, you know?”

    “I don’t, I don’t know… We already have the motherfucking Archbishop knowing. Can he wait until we’re home and know we can make this biblically acceptable?”

     “Frank, I’m telling my brother.”

     “I don’t think that’s a good idea, what if he tells your uncle?”

     Gerard scowls, “Just because your brothers don’t accept you doesn’t mean mine won’t.”

     I stare at him, gaping. “This… this is not a case of being accepted. It’s still fucking illegal and against the religion, Gee. You can’t compare this to _my_ relationship with _my_ siblings, which you don’t know anything about, by the way.”

    “I’m the king, I can change the rules.”

    “Oh god, you sound like a spoilt child right now, you realise.”  
    “Fuck you.”

    “Fuck off.”

    “Get the fuck out.”

    “Fucking put your own nightgown on then,” I say storming toward the door. Only once I’ve slammed it do I realise I’ve just stormed out on the king of the country who is going through a bit of a diva tantrum. I look at the dark wood panelling and sigh, my night clothes are still in there and now I’m going to have to go sleep on the ground in my work clothes.

 

Gerard is as cold as ice the next morning. I wake him up and he just shouts “Coffee” from his bed. When I come back with his breakfast he’s dressed and sitting in the presence chamber, waiting. “Where did you sleep last night?” he asks, a tint of frost in his voice.

    “There,” I point toward the spot on the ground beside the fire.

    “You slept _on the floor?_ ”

    “Yea?”

    “Okay…” he looks confused but he clouds his expression then. “Go call for my brother.”  
    “Gee…”

    “Oh calm down, I just want to talk to my brother. I’m not letting any rather large cats out of my purse yet.”  
    “What…?”  
    “It’s a saying, “let a cat out of the purse”… I’m referring to a fairly big secret being let loose?” He sighs like I’m an idiot.

    “I’m pretty sure that is not how that saying goes.”  
     “Yea it is, two seconds ago you didn’t even know it existed.” I just grin at him. “What?”  
     “Oh, nothing. You’re the king, you must be right.”

     His brow furrows then his whole face softens and he smiles a tight lipped smile. “What are you trying not to say,” I ask.

    “Nothing, go get my Mikey.”

    “Your Mikey?” I smirk.

    “You heard me.”

 

The King and the Prince sit together in Gerard’s antechamber for hours as Gerard tries to force comfort between them. Mikey softens a little bit but it’s still incredibly formal for the relationship Gerard claimed yesterday. Or maybe it’s normal and I’m just ignorant of all good sibling relationships.

    Finally Gerard is called away and him and Mikey leave together to go talk to their uncle about leaving. I fix the fires in the rooms and fold some of Gerard’s clothes while I wait. After a while the archbishop turns up.

     He arrives so silently that one minute I’m alone in the room, staring out the window down at the town, the next he’s standing right at my shoulder whispering, “Frank.”

     I get such a shock I nearly fall out the window and end up grabbing the wall to steady myself, “Your grace,” I gasp at him.

    “I realised there is something I didn’t say yesterday,” he looks down at his feet.

    “Yes?”

    “I would like to offer myself as a confidante to you too,” his head shoots up and his eyes look all earnest and shiny. “I realised your soul may have been troubling you also and I do not want to discriminate between kings and peasants, all of whom deserve absolution,” he grins. Why is he grinning? There is nothing to grin about. “So, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

     “Thank you, your grace.”

     “No problem.”

     I nod. He nods.

     And then he continues to just stand there, really close, as I lean back against the wall, right next to the window. I think he is expecting me to want absolution right now.

    “Um, well of course, I have been worried about my soul,” I say, clearing my throat a little as I lie through my teeth. “Ever since I was young.”

    “How young, son?”

    This is so weird. The guy is not that much older than me and he’s calling me son. “Since my adolescent years.”

    “You are barely out of adolescence.”  
    “Well when I was at the very start.” He nods for me to continue. “At first I thought I was pious, feeling none of the sin of lust in me. But then I began noticing that I feel towards men as one would towards women, and I have always since felt my soul endangered.” That sounds like a convincing lie. Really my attitude has been more _hell will be full of homo, what a party._

    “Have you ever looked for absolution?”

    “Often, only to be condemned.”  
    “I understand. I will help deliver your pure soul to God, as should.”  

    “Thank you.”

    “It will be my pleasure,” he continues to stand there, smiling. “Any more you wish to confess?”

    “Not at the moment.”

    “I shall bless thee now then.”

    I nod and he steps back giving me space to kneel before him. This is so weird, I haven’t been blessed like this since my confirmation aged twelve. The archbishop blesses me and then helps me to my feet. We just stand there in Gerard’s chamber, then, awkwardly unsure of what is to be done or said next.

    Thankfully I hear a door crash open in the next room and Gerard shouts, “Frank, we are leaving the day after tomorrow.” He wanders in with Patrick and Mikey on his tail and is understandably surprised to see me and Tyler Joseph, the archbishop, standing really close to each other at the edge of his room. “Um, hello, your grace.”

    He bows, “your majesty, I was just listening to the confession of your equerry as we waited for you.” He said that like it was a casual game people do when they’re bored. I know what we should do for fun, listen to the mortal sins of each other.

    “Okay.” Gerard raises a brow. “Well, we’re all leaving for the capital two days hence, and guess who’s joining us?”

    “Who?” I think I already know the answer.

    “My uncle! Oh isn’t that _great._ Aren’t you fucking excited to travel all that way again with my _uncle,_ pardon my language your grace.”

    The Archbishop nods. I throw Gerard a nervous look, he’s in one of the moods where he doesn’t filter anything he says.

   “Oh what a fun, family road trip, yippee!” He smiles like a lunatic.

   “Don’t be an asshole, Gerard,” Mikey hisses.

   “Don’t call the king an asshole,” Gerard warns before dancing off into his bedchamber and slamming the door. Leaving me still standing in close proximity to the Archbishop, now joined by Mikey and Patrick standing uncomfortably by the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Sleep")  
> Yo mes amis. So this is quite a short one, considering. Unfortunately what i thought i'd do in this chapter was to be wildly long so i decided to make it just a collection of awkward run ins. I'll probably end up with this fic way longer than i planned, with 27/28 chapters as opposed to 25 lol oh well. Thank you so much for reading ily all so much and i'll update as soon as i can.  
> XoE


	18. And All The Good Girls Go To Heaven

POV: Mikey

 

I just stare at him. This doesn’t make sense.

    When my uncle claimed it I didn’t believe him. I thought he was just trying to destroy Gerard in my eyes but now, he’s said it to me. My own brother is a sinner. A pretty big sinner at that. And he’s the king.

    And my uncle was right. He seems to be right a lot recently, and always to do with Gerard. “Oh for god sake Mikey, please say something.”

    “I can’t.”

    “Mikey,” he looks like he’s going to cry. I grew up with him and have only seen him cry five times. I don’t want to be the reason he cries again. I take a step backwards. We’re in his tent and it’s very late. So late that my uncle is probably already sleeping, but maybe this is worth waking him for. “Mikey, please.”

    “Gerard it’s…”

    “A sin?”

    “Well, yes.” I back away more and Frank stands behind me guarding the exit. I swallow and take a step to the side. I shouldn’t feel frightened, it’s Gerard. Even if he’s changed, and is a sinner, he is still _Gerard._

   “That’s why we’re going back to the capital so soon, we want to study why it’s a sin.”

    “You don’t just ask why something is a sin,” I hiss. “It’s a sin because the bible says so. It’s wrong, it’s bad, it’s _unnatural._ ”

     Gerard looks distraught. Behind me Frank clears his throat, “my prince, if you knew how this sin felt… it doesn’t feel like a sin. Things that are sins usually feel like a sin.”

     Gerard’s lips begin to tremble, I can’t take this. I can’t have him cry. “Don’t cry,” I say. “Crying isn’t repenting.” It’s like that last word just triggered tears and Gerard turns away. Frank runs over to him and holds him and he just cries into Frank’s shoulder. I shake my head and start backing away until I’m out of the tent.

    In the open air the atmosphere is different, it feels happy and lively and I feel so out of place with the knot in my stomach. I push past a group of knights and walk out of the camp. “Prince, where are you going?” Someone calls as I’ve already began to climb down the steep bank. We’re camped right beside a river.

    “Just here,” I call back, trying not to let my voice wobble. Why do I feel guilty, and sad? I shouldn’t, I’ve done nothing wrong, my brother has, and I pointed it out.

    I drop down on a rock by the river. The moon and the stars reflect off the waters as they speed along away south. The night is warm and still except for the sound of the camp behind me.

    I touch the water with my hand. I’ve got to think about this.

    First thing to consider: why did I come here? Right here. Instead of going to find my uncle while he might still be awake. Am I trying to give myself time to think, or am I avoiding thinking?

    I don’t know what to think.

    The night is so pretty here. It reminds me of Gerard’s eighteenth birthday festival when they flew all those lanterns across the great river and it looked like they were setting fire to the sky. The reflection looked just like this.

     My birthday festival wasn’t as grand but I begged that we could do that and Gerard made sure we did. He was always more celebrated but he always made sure I wasn’t left at the wayside. My stupid sinning brother.

    I hear a sliding noise behind me. “Who is it?”

    “Frank.”

    I purse my lips and turn around. My brother’s… person, slides down the bank toward me. He’s really small, I notice, as our eyes are at an equal level even though I’m sitting.

    “You know I didn’t want Gerard to tell you,” he says, brashly. “I didn’t want him to tell you in case you reacted like this. In case you went on to tell your uncle. This is a secret that could get him killed but do you know what he said?” I shake my head. “He kept saying “my brother wouldn’t do that.”. We had a lot of arguments over it but each time he insisted that even if you weren’t on the best terms you’ve ever been, you still loved and respected him because you’re brothers. I don’t know what proper brother relations are like, but I know what bad ones are. And you’re it. Just now, you acted to Gerard the way my brothers would have acted to me and that’s just shitty.”

    I stare at him. “Gerard and I were very close. But he has changed. You changed him, didn’t you?”

    “How has he changed?”

    “He never wrote to me. He only ever wrote to my uncle and it was always formal. He just argues all the time with our uncle and he has become rude and spoilt. He obviously thinks he can get whatever he wants _even if it is a sin._ ”

    “He wrote to you a lot.”

    “No he didn’t I watched every rider come in. No letters for me.”

    “Well I saw him fucking write loads of very long letters and I saw him fucking worrying about how they sounded. And I saw him get fucking distressed when you never wrote back and I saw him cry when your uncle said that you didn’t want him to come.”

    “I never said that. You’re lying.”

    “I don’t lie. If I lied I’d be nice to you right now, pretending I like you, but I don’t. You’re showing none of the love or support Gerard said you would. I know you’re probably going to tell your uncle. And I know that if you do, Gerard will be killed. Or imprisoned. Or both in rapid succession.”  
    “My uncle wouldn’t kill Gerard.”

    “I’m pretty damn sure he would. Have you heard about this powder that makes things go on fire? No matter where it is or what is under it. Ground, air, water. Because I didn’t know it existed until your uncle’s servants told me. So you better not say a word, Michael Way, because I know what your uncle would do if he knew. Because I know what he’s been trying to do when he had no legal motive like this. So fucking fuck this.”

 

The sunlight pierces through the thin tent walls. I try turn over but the sun is on the other side too. It’s not long before I give up on trying to fall back asleep and just get up.

    If there’s a way to wake up on the wrong side of the bed, I did, and I can already sense today is going to be a shitty day. And, yes, almost forgot, yesterday was a shitty day. I made the king cry and then argued with his man concubine thing, until I cried. That was embarrassing to say the least.

    I dress myself because all my attendants are still asleep and it’s like half five in the morning. After a quick piss, I wander out into the morning air. The fires are all just smouldering as the morning mist sits on them. Only a few people are awake, and they’re at the opposite end of the camp packing up. I walk over to the edge of the bank and look down at the river, where I sat last night. “Mikey, Prince, what are you doing awake?”

    Pete’s voice almost startles me off the edge of the bank. “The stupid sun shone through the tent, woke me up.”

    “You look shit,” he laughs. Pete Wentz is probably the only person alive who can tell a prince that he looks shit, and it be totally fine. “It’s like six, how late were you up?”

     “Late. Is my uncle up?”

     Pete laughs, “God, no. Want some breakfast? I’m sure they’ll start cooking soon, I see the equerry is up.”

     I feel my heart sink just a little, “yea breakfast would be nice.”  
    Frank is sitting beside a smouldering fire eating a lump of bread. Next to him someone is trying to relight it. “Morning, Prince,” Frank smiles, as if he didn’t make me cry last night. He pats the space next to him.

    “Morning,” I reply and sit on the opposite side of the fire. He purses his lips and eats more bread. “Slept well, I trust,” I have to stop myself from adding “with my brother”.

    “Always,” he smiles. Oh god I could be sick. “Have you spoken with your uncle since we spoke last night?” He’s so polite right now.

    “No I have not.”

    “No?” This comes from behind me. My brother stands fully dressed behind me. “I thought you ran straight off to do so. After we were talking.”

    “No your concu- your comrade, intercepted me.”

    Gerard shoots Frank a worried look and Frank just raises his eyebrows. The fire is getting properly going and Gerard sits in front of it, between Frank and I. We’re both handed our coffee and nervously sip it for the rest of the morning.

 

This is the first time I’ve lied to my uncle since he stopped lying to me. And I didn’t even mean to. When he said “What were you speaking to Gerard about,” I wanted to say, “You were right, he told me about the sodomy,” but instead I said, “He wants us to become as close as we used to be.”

    And when he asked if the equerry was there, I for some reason said he wasn’t.

    And when he asked me if I believed what he said about Gerard’s relations with Frank, I replied, “I don’t understand it at all, uncle. I think you’re completely wrong.”

    “How so,” he says now, leaning back in the saddle. We’re on the way to the next stop that day. We’re riding at the head of the party, except of course for that one knight, but I don’t think he can hear. “Has he ever mentioned a fondness for a girl?”

     “Of course!”

     “Who?”

     _Fuck. Why did I start lying, I’m not good at this._ “I… many.”

     “You… Many?”

     “Yes.”

     “Would you care to enlighten me?”

     “No. Um, that girl he danced with thrice, the other day. Lady…”

     “Eleanor? Eleanor Woodrow?”

     “That must be the one. He says he finds her very handsome- beautiful. So very beautiful.” My uncle frowns deeply.

      “Yes. She is quite beautiful.” He frowns even deeper. “Well we may have to do something about that then, if the King wants a woman, he should have her. Eleanor would make a good queen, mind I had thought her for you.”

     _Of course you did._ “Well that is a shame, isn’t it?”

     “Indeed.” We take a turn down a hill and into silence for the remainder of the journey.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "This Is How I DIsappear")  
> Hola darlings. Sorry this was so slow, and shortish. My friend was over Friday and Saturday and i spent yesterday writing out 38 pages of fucking maths notes only to have the teacher not collect the copies (I'm so unbelievably pissed about this, 38 is a lot of pages of maths notes i barely understand). Oh well, I've come up with several new fic ideas that I'm dying to write but fear not, I will finish this first.   
> Anyway, thank you all so much for reading this, it means a bunch :* if you're digging it pass it on to your fellow frerard shippers so they may dig it equally. Lemme know what you think and I'll try update again before Friday :3  
> XoE


	19. We Were Born To Lose

POV: Gerard

 

The sun makes sitting in a carriage for hours on end almost unbearable. We’re so cramped, four to the one carriage. And it’s not even mine, or my uncle’s. It’s Tyler’s. So now Tyler, Frank, Patrick, and I are stuck in a cramped velvet carpeted carriage, just sweating, for full days on end. I nearly wish I was a rider like Mikey and my uncle.

    Not only is the general feeling of being in here uncomfortable but there’s a distinct awkwardness between everyone. Sometimes Pete will ride up and lean in the carriage window and make some random, sometimes funny, statement. But mostly just like, “You all look so hot, hot damn,” or, “If you need to take a noble dump we’re stopping soon for a break.”

    Those breaks were very vital fifteen minutes for us. We get to change our sweat soaked chemises, if we want. I get to piss, walk around a bit, and this time, I get to grab Mikey. He’s been avoiding me since the morning after Frank apparently had a go at him. I had to tell Frank off, even though I didn’t want to, just for making Mikey cry.

    Two castles and six days and he’s managed to evade me since. Mainly by sticking so close to my uncle that I couldn’t approach him without a million questions. Too many of which involve Frank. But right now, he’s on his own, having a piss.

    “Well, how did he react,” I whisper harshly as I stand close enough behind him that no one else will hear, but not close that I’ll get any splash back.

    “What?” he asks, completely unsurprised at being approached mid-urination.

    “Uncle. How did he react when you told him?”

    “Oh right,” he shakes himself off, “Yea, I didn’t tell him.”  
     “What?” he’s turning around and beginning to walk away so I grab his arm, “What do you mean you didn’t tell him?”  
     “I mean, I’m not very good at lying, but I accidentally lied for your sinning ass anyway. Oh god I did not mean that literally!” he shudders, possibly genuinely. “So yea, you’re hopelessly smitten with Eleanor Woodrow, okay? It’s the only way to get uncle to believe you’re not a sinning dog.”

    My lip twitches. This is not what I was hoping to have happened but I guess it’s better than the alternative. “Uncle had known all along, and I didn’t believe him when he said. So just watch how in love with that boy you are publically. Sorry Gee,” I let go of his arm. Maybe he’s forgiving me for all my sinning ways. Probably not. I doubt he’s just looking past it either. He’s probably just been thinking.

   “If you ever want to talk about it or… want to know anything or…”

   “Ew, god Gerard, no thank you. Keep any sex life details to yourself, please,” and for a second he grins, “besides, of course, if you get him pregnant and need me to find you special medicine.”

    “Mikey…”                                                 

    “I’m going back to my horse.”

    “You’re always welcome in my carriage.”

    “That’s nice.” And he’s gone. I walk back toward the velvet sun trap, against which Frank is leaning, staring at Mikey as he walks away. Our journey home is an entirely new route thanks to the bridge being gone and our last place to camp before we get home is Frank’s old village. Since he received that information Frank seems to be on edge, in the way he’s always ready to fight. I shoot him a warning look and he doesn’t say anything to Mikey as he passes.

    “Well?”

    “It’s all okay.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “We can talk later, right now let’s get back in our lovely velvet oven.”

    “With nice damp seats from our collective sweat.”

    “Three cheers for discomfort.”

 

We’ve slept interchangeably between castles and fields. I just want to get home at this stage. The carriage rides are so uncomfortable in every way . I really want to like the Archbishop but I never knew how sinfully I spoke until I sat with him. He blesses himself every time I curse and I honestly don’t know how I should feel about that.

    I usually have to carry the conversations in the carriage, which, in itself, is exhausting. Frank seems to be getting more and more on edge during the day and Tyler only ever speaks if he has something really weirdly philosophical and deep to say. In fact sometimes I’ll say something happy and he’ll reply with a dark, important life lesson. And Patrick is just quiet, and polite. As always.

    So I just talk. And talk. And I have almost completely run out of light, interesting things to say so I just say anything. This is what days of uncomfortable silence does.

    “So when you all were younger, who was your wet-nurse? What was she like?”

    “I had my mother,” Frank says simply and then stares out the window. Alright then.

    “I had a lady called Isabelle. She was nice. And foreign. I had a foreign accent when I was an infant because of her, apparently. Mikey had a woman from the countryside called Mary.”

    “My mom,” Frank says.  
    “What?”

    “My mother was wet-nurse to the Prince, and she brought me to the castle with her until he was weaned, have I never mentioned it?”

    “No, no you haven’t,” that’s a fucking weird coincidence. Tyler blessed himself, which means that must have been out loud.

    “Odd coincidence indeed,” Patrick mutters.

    I have him now, “and who was yours, Patrick?”

    “A woman called Anna. She was lovely. She raised me very gently and kindly.”

    “I see she had a positive effect on you then.”  
    Patrick smiles and looks at his hands, folded in his lap, “Your majesty is too kind.”

    “Only honest,” he smiles. He must have modelled himself on her then. “And you Tyler.”

    “I had a lady called Maria, god rest her soul,” he blesses himself again. What the fuck is up with that. “She was sweet and raised me and my brothers. Then she died in childbirth when she finally birthed a living boy,” he blesses himself again. I seriously want to tie his hands behind his back so he will stop that. I check his expression then, making sure I didn’t actually say that.

    I didn’t.

    “You didn’t what?” This was Patrick.

    “Didn’t… notice how dark it’s getting! Look! Where is the Trohman’s?”

     Everyone leans to look out the window. It’s not even that dark, at all. The sky is going a pinky grey and Pete came buy about ten minutes to say we’re an hour away.

     “There’s a while left in that sunlight, your majesty,” Patrick says. “It’s midsummer.”

    “That it is! And do you all like the months of midsummer?”

 

Frank and I sit on the bed of my new room in Trohman’s castle. Patrick has been and gone with his bidding goodnight. So has the attendant from my uncle. Mikey just won’t be showing up and we’re not expecting Tyler.

    But just because we’re not expecting Tyler doesn’t mean he won’t show up so we don’t do anything except sit here and discuss quietly what the fuck my brother’s playing at.

    “No, no, let’s think about the sequence of events, right?” I say. Frank nods. “He reacts badly when I tell him.”

    “Yes.”

    “Then he goes and sits by the river, without going to our uncle first.” Frank nods. “And then you two argue.” Frank nods more furiously. “And he cries, but not like he is sad about everything, like he’s confused? Or angry?”

     “A whole bunch of stuff I’d say, Gee.”

     “And then he avoids me for a week and at some point lies to my uncle saving my “sinning ass”.”

     Frank laughs, “That’s a really bad choice of words by him. Wow. But yea, he told your uncle you were hetero for that girl he wants to fuck. So he might marry you two and then he’ll just be fucking her.”

    “You think he’d really try and sleep with the king’s wife?”

    “Well, yes. And then he might get her with child the whole country will think you’re doing your manly duty.”

    “Okay rewind a bit Frank, I don’t want to marry her.”

    “You have to marry someone and, well, you can’t marry me!”  
    “I suppose.”

    “So marry her and just never fuck her and let your uncle get her pregnant. It’s an easy way out for you, Gee.”  
    “Won’t she notice if I never, ever, fuck her.”  
    “Well what’s she going to do?”

    “I don’t know… I don’t want this to happen. Let’s ignore that for the moment, can we?”  
     “Yes, sure.” He scoots closer to me. I didn’t realise we had any space left between us. Frank nestles into me. “So your brother isn’t a total shit.”

    I frown. “He never was.”  
    “Right no, of course”

    “Speaking of brothers being total shits, will you be wanting to see yours?”

    “No.”

    “We’ll be right beside them for a night and morning.”

    “So I’ve been told.”

    “I guess you don’t have to see them.” I squeeze him into me and he sighs. “We have a full day here tomorrow to relax, you know. Trohman is making us stay.”

    “Yea, I heard that.”

    “From me.”  
    “Oh. Probably.”  
    I kiss Frank quickly on the mouth before he can protest about the safety. “You look tired, you should sleep now,” I say before kissing him again.

    “I am tired,” he says and then kisses me. “But kissing you is fun.”

    I grab his face as gently as I can with all the urgency I feel, kiss him, and whisper in his ear, “I’m glad you think so.”

 

Yesterday was spent playing cards with my lords and watching Joe Trohman lose to the Archbishop at tennis. I can honestly say I didn’t expect the Archbishop to be so good at it. He won each game easily. He had then wiped his face and gone to deliver mass to the people of the town. I went with him to the gates and kissed the heads of more babies than I thought were in the country. It’s great to see the place so healthy and full of life again.

    Today’s journey by carriage was plain awful, however. Frank was sick with nerves the entire time. He had terrible stomachaches and he felt like he needed to pace so he just sat there fidgeting and sweating. I wish this wasn’t such an ordeal for him. I don’t understand why he feels like this but I just really wished he didn’t.

    We left Trohman’s after Sunday morning mass. Unfortunately, Tyler has made the decision that we don’t get enough of the stuff and wants Frank and I to come to the one he’ll be saying in the next village. He loves this whole mass thrice daily thing but I know he only wants us to come so we can have a bit of soul cleansing.

    And when the Archbishop invites you to mass in front of a camp full of people, you can’t really refuse. I guess the thought of mass with his family is what’s made this even worse for Frank.

    We arrive and rest a bit while others set up camp around us. Frank is quiet the entire time and throws up twice. At half five an expedition of seven people, including myself, Pete, Frank, Mikey, my uncle, and the Archbishop, make our way to the church, all crammed together into the Velvet prison. Frank had to sit up with the driver because there was no room in the carriage, and he was of lowest class.

    He looked very distraught but did it anyway and I sat and listened to the silence as we made our way there. Outside the church a great number of people have already gathered waiting for mass. The parish priest shouts to silence them and they part to allow us all through first.

    “Frank?” I hear someone yell as we all step down from the carriage. I quickly stand beside Frank in case he does something. I watch as the young woman who owns the voice pushes her way to the front of the crowds. She’s pregnant it seems, and looks disturbingly like Frank. She must be his sister. Everyone bows and curtsies but she stands there gaping at us for a moment before she follows suit.

    “Hi Jane,” Frank says calmly. When her eyes lift again she sees us walking in to the church.

 

Tyler made the mass about acceptance and love. Tyler, Frank, Mikey, and my uncle look at me during these parts. Mass is always really testing for me because I have to try and not say anything. After mass Tyler invites me up to speak to my people, I’ll thank him for that later. I just told them how pleased I am to see them and how much we appreciate their hospitality. We have to wait around after for me to kiss babies and Tyler to bless them.

    One of the very last people to ask to be blessed is Frank’s sister. Pete tries to send her on her way after but Frank tells him it’s his sister and she stands aside with him.

    She hugs him, “Oh Frank! It has been so long.” He is frozen in place.

    “You’re pregnant.”

    “Yes.”  
    “You never wrote to tell me.”

    “Would you have wanted to know?”

    “Well, yes, actually. I like to know when I’m going to be an uncle.”

    “Well I’ll tell you now then. I’m pregnant and so is John’s wife.”

    “Oh. Where are they?”

    “Mom and our brothers left, I don’t think they saw you.”

    “Or they just didn’t want to speak to me.”

    She slaps his arm, “Don’t be like that, Frank. No need to be sour. Why are you here… with the nobility?”  
    “I’m the king’s equerry; we go to mass together.” At this point I realise my uncle is watching the exchange carefully from his pew.

    “What’s an equerry?”

    “Like a companion.”

     “You’re telling me you’re the king’s… friend?”

     “Yes, I suppose.” I turn around then. “Your majesty, this is my sister, Jane. Jane this is Gerard Way II, the King.”

    She immediately drops into a low curtsey. “Your majesty it is an honour.”

    “The honour is mine, I have never met Frank’s relations.” She just stands there, stunned. “Come Frank, we’re going to be leaving now.”  
    “Good bye Jane.” Frank says, stepping toward me. We begin to walk away.

    “I’ll write!” She calls after Frank.

    “No you won’t,” he calls back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter Title from, "Fake your Death")  
> Howdy. I'm genuinely shocked i got this written today. It's probably thanks to my neglecting everything else i was supposed to do today, oh well. My band and i are playing a gig toward the end of this month and we still haven't finalised the set list... That's the problem with a clash of music tastes. Anyhow, thank you all my dears who have read this far wowow ilysm friends. I'll update again soon, lemme know what you think!   
> XoE


	20. Slip Into the Tragedy You've Spun This Chamber Dry

POV: Frank

 

Seeing Jane was just kinda awful. Like it’s been so long and I’ve heard nothing from them. And now she’s _pregnant._ Like, the fact I’m going to be an uncle just has nothing to do with me. Maybe she just doesn’t want it to be anything to do with me. Well guess who is no longer sending money home.

     Actually I will because I have nothing against my unborn nieces and nephews, but I will not be writing ever again.

    It’s nice to be home now, even if I’m just in the door. I see Josh standing at the top of the stairs ordering some servants about and I smile at him. I think he nods at me but I’m just part of the masses flowing in. Gerard, the archbishop, Deisceart, and Mikey, have all gone in first. They’re to be eating together. This, obviously, was not Gerard’s intention. In fact, he probably just wanted to go to sleep or something.

    The ride home from my old home was better than the ride to it. Gerard no longer felt the need to speak to fill the silence because we were so close. Every now and again his mouth would twitch and he’d scan our faces to make sure he hadn’t said anything out loud. He’s getting better at this.

     I wander into the kitchens to get myself something to eat. Some scullery maids curtsey slightly to me and one hands me food before I can even go get my own. “Um, thank you,” I say taking the small platter. There’s bread, meat, and eggs on it. Either the country has gone incredibly bountiful with the new found health or they mistake me for someone who matters.

    I spot Ray pointing at an oven and frowning at a man about thrice my age. I wave over to him and he looks up. After a last word to the man he walks over to me and bows shortly. “What are you doing,” I ask, kind of confused.

    “Um, bowing, Sir.”

    “I’m not a knight? What? Why? Don’t bow to me,” I look up at him from under my bangs. Even bowing he’s taller than me.

    “We’ve heard of your promotion, and the way you saved the king and stuff.”

    “That isn’t a reason to bow to me. Last time I was here I worked for you.”

    “You don’t anymore, Sir.”

    “Ray cut that out.”

    “Is that an order?”

    “Oh for fuck sake. Sure, yes. An order.”  
    “Okay,” he grins. “I’m just teasing you Frank. I’m on a break, want to come into the garden and tell me all that happened to make you so… high in the payroll.”

   I follow Ray out into kitchens gardens. It’s a small enough area crammed with herbs and veg they would rather use fresh than import from the farms. Ray sits on a barrel by the wall and I lean against another one. They’re a little too high for me to risk my pride trying to climb. “First of all,” I explain, mouth full off bread and egg, “there’s no rise in my pay since I became the master of the wardrobe. I just don’t really have to do anything anymore.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “My job has literally just become being the king’s friend.”  
    Ray looks confused, “you’re getting paid for being the king’s friend?”

    “And helping him dress and things. I was his only servant since he became the King so I guess I’m now just his friend that helps him wash his hair,” I try to look casual.

    “Not bad,” Ray smiles. I sense no jealousy in him.

    “And anyway, what’s been going on here?”

    “People have been reemployed. Women have been getting pregnant. There’s been a lot of random donations thanking the king for curing them or their relatives.”  
    “That’s nice of them.”  
    “Yes it was. We gave most of it back out to the very poor, though. The king wasn’t here and there’s still a lot of starving people. Mainly kids on the streets who lost parents.”

    I frown. We saw a lot of that everywhere we went. A lot of kids no older then twelve, taking in babies abandoned when their parents died, and so many relatives refusing to take them in because there’s no food for them. Shit, I was pretty much one of those kids, only old enough to work without my parents’ permission.

    I hear people clattering the platters of the king and his company. I say my goodbyes to Ray and run up the familiar servant staircases to the King’s apartments. I almost full on collide with the marshal as he steps out of his office. “Are you coming to see the king?” I ask. He smiles and nods. He looks as exhausted as I remember. Maybe we should hire him someone to help him. “Wanna race?”

    He just stares blankly at me for a moment. Then, without warning, he takes off, running up the steps two at a time. I forgot my tiny legs can’t keep that kind of thing up and call to him after one flight, “okay, you win!”

    He turns around, still ascending, “Good.”

    Josh waits for me at the entrance to the king’s rooms. His face is solemn again. I never really spoke to Josh, properly, but hey, I’m feeling good being back in these stone walls.

   Gerard is reclining in his throne in his presence chamber. Next to him his uncle sits talking at length about something Gerard is clearly not giving a shit about. Mikey is on the other side looking out across at their uncle, nodding intently. Archbishop Tyler Joseph is for some reason playing chess with Patrick Stump. I feel like someone should be in here painting this scene. Josh and I bow and Gerard jumps up to greet us, cutting off his uncle with his sudden movement. “How are you my dear Marshal?”

    “Okay, your majesty. Better now you’re home.”

    Gerard grins and hugs him up out of his bow. I stand up slowly and wander to the corner of the room. Patrick is winning the game of chess. The Archbishop looks very concentrated.

    “Frank, go get Lady Anabelle will you?” Gerard smiles facedly. “She arrived a while ago apparently. She’s in the woman’s wing of castle, but Tyler thinks it would be nice to have someone reading the bible as we relax…” He doesn’t look like this is an idea he supports at all.

     I nod and go off in search of the “woman’s wing” wherever the fuck that is. I’ve realised there aren’t many women around in this palace, usually. They’re probably all flocking in now to try marry Gee.

     I find the women’s wing quite easily, I just follow a servant carrying a bolt of blue cloth. Inside a large chamber girls of all ages are sitting around Gerard’s aunt. I had forgotten she was travelling with us. She’s smiling now, talking to some of the younger girls who are all sewing. There’s a smiley young boy in the corner playing a lute. This room has better vibes than Gerard’s but I do feel out of place. I bow in the doorway, “My ladies, who is Lady Anabelle?”

    “I,” a young girl mutters from next to Gee’s aunt.

    “The King requires your presence,” I say. She blushes deeply and a few other girls raise their eyebrows and smirk at her. She just innocently follows me out the door and into the hall.

    Gerard greets her quickly before continuing his conversation with Josh about civil donations. I sit down on a stool by the window and look down at the river.

    Deisceart greets the young lady and sets her about reading from his own, personal, bible, in the other corner of the room. She takes the book from him and begins to read the part he has marked.

    “Leviticus 20:13, "If there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death. Their bloodguiltness is upon them.” My head darted around at the words “with a male”. Anabelle looks innocent as she continues to read. My eyes didn’t move to her though, they moved to Gerard. He only hesitated a heartbeat, but I know it was enough because Deisceart was watching him intently. The Archbishop had his eyes nervously trained at the chess board and after a moment, excused himself. Mikey was looking casual, but he had stopped midsentence. And of course, I look like a pony caught in a barn fire.

    Deisceart turns to me and smiles. I can almost hear the cogs in his brain working. Gerard, not missing a beat, turns to his uncle when his sentence is finished and says, “Uncle, I meant to ask, will you invite the Woodrows to the palace? And remind me later to speak to you about Ms Eleanor.”

    His uncle purses his lips and then widens them into a smile, “Of course, dear nephew.”

 

As I help Gerard ready for bed that night, I can’t help but bring up his inviting Eleanor and her family to the palace. “I feel sick,” he admits, “because I know my uncle will be delighted to fawn over her, but I need some degree of interest in a woman. Specifically after the little Leviticus incident.”

    “Yea, that’s understandable.”

    “I’m going to have to marry her now, aren’t I?”

    “I guess.”

    At this point he’s in his nightgown. He just turns on his heel and starts banging his head off the post of his bed. I grab his arm and pull him backwards, “stop that or your royal head will get bruised.”

    “Sorry, yes. I just,” he groans really loudly. “I don’t want to!”

    “You don’t have to!”

    “I kinda do now!”

    “Well we can work around it, okay,” I say, slipping an arm around Gerard’s waist.

     He shoves me off gently and sits down on the bed, “if it wasn’t safe before, it’s definitely not now.” I nod. Fuck this, even though we’re home, we’re in danger. You can’t just convict the king, you need a lot of evidence, and I’m sure Deisceart realises this.

     “We don’t even know if your uncle plans to convict you,” I point out.

    “Of course he does. If it’s not his intention to just kill me off, he’ll at least imprison me so he can puppeteer all he likes over Mikey. He’s going to want to tear me down.”

    We sigh in unison then. There’s no point in me waiting around much longer now. I states as much. “Yes, go on, goodnight. Sweet dreams,” he sighs.

    I quickly kiss Gerard and leave the room, “Goodnight your majesty.” Leaving him like this feels wrong. I wish I still got to sleep on a panel by his bed. I’d prefer that to a proper bed, just to be by him. I wince at the cheesiness of my own thoughts.

    I bump into Deisceart at the main door into the royal chambers. “Oh, Frank, I was just about to go in and talk to you two.” The two knights posted on either side are glaring down at him.

    “Of course you were. My lord. The king has just retired for the night, can you speak tomorrow?”  
    He purses his lips, “Of course, I guess. Good night.”

    “And you.” I remain at the door until I hear him descending the grand stairs. I turn to one of the guards, “Was he trying to enter unannounced?”

    The knight looks surprised, “Um, yes. Yes he was.” I frown. “We didn’t allow him to, though.”  
    “Good. By the decrees of common decency no one should enter anyone’s private chamber unannounced, specifically when they’re going to sleep, you know?” They both nod. “Thanks. Good night, knights.” I almost laugh at that for some reason, as I make my way upstairs to my bed. I can’t tell if I’ve really missed this at all.

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "The Jetset life is gonna kill you")  
> Hi hi. I'm sorry this was so long coming! I've been busy with school and my band and things. We have a gig on Sunday and then we're playing a live acoustic set on the radio on Halloween (!!!!) So yea, we're pretty busy with that. The only reason i got to write this today is because i have exams tomorrow and my procrastination problem is growing. The exam is maths and instead of trying to figure out certain aspects of algebra i wrote a 2005 word chapter. Great.   
> Anyway, thankyouohsomuch for reading. When i hit 1000 views i nearly had a heart attack because WHOA. I hope ya'll are enjoying and i'll try update soon.   
> XoE


	21. Tomorrow We’ll Do It Again

 

POV: Gerard

 

I thought coming home would calm me down. Thinking home being a place I’m not constantly surrounded by four or more lords. Thinking home being the place I basically live with Frank and Frank alone.

    But instead, coming home just pushed me further on edge. I’ve been given an extra two servants that I never asked for. Now Frank and I have no inconspicuous time alone. I’d have to order them out of the room and I‘m pretty sure they’re both funded by my uncle’s deep pockets. 

    The court is filling slowly with young women and their fathers who are edging them my way. It’s quite uncomfortable, really. Specifically as I have to act like I’m interested. Frank just stands there as I have to flirtatiously thank girls for whatever compliments they throw my way.

    The most difficult of these encounters are with Lady Clara Talbot, the sister of Pete Wentz. It’s just awkward because, being married, it’s easier for the family to shove her into my bed. She’s Pete’s sister and I don’t want to fuck her, I really don’t. No matter how much Frank says it might be a good idea. I don’t like how okay with this he is. How much he knows it needs to be done. I wish he was angry about it all. I wish he saw me kissing a young ladies hand and wanting to throw them out the window, not just stand there looking pleasant.

    I wish that when I danced with Lady Annabelle and Eleanor that he got so angry he had to leave the room. I wish that he’d get really fucking pissy, because as it stands, it’s like he feels nothing.

    I’m pacing my bedchamber in front of Frank now. He’s sitting quietly on a stool talking to Tyler as the servants are running in and out filling a bath. They’re pleasantly discussing something from the Old Testament. Well, it’s more that Tyler is reciting passages and Frank is asking what it means exactly.

    Frank is really good at humouring the Archbishop. Much better than me, I just get frustrated and curse, making Tyler bless himself. “Okay,” I say after a moment, “that’s just great, very interesting, but my bath is ready.” Tyler blushes and nods, standing. He understands what that means. He’s probably off to pray for our lustily sinning souls. “Thanks Tyler, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

    “Undoubtedly, your majesty,” he smiles. _Great._ He frowns and Frank shoots me a look meaning I said this out loud.

   “Great, really great!” I try recover. “Tyler would you like to break fast with me?” Ugh.

    “After mass?”

    “Sure.”

    “It would be an honour,” Tyler smiles and leaves the room, unoffended. I send the new servants out after him, saying that I don’t need three people to wash me. They nod and scamper off. I begin to take off my clothes and Frank goes out to the guards on the outermost door. He tells them to not let anyone in because the King is bathing.

    Upon his return I smile at him as I lower myself into the tub, “Awh you undressed yourself, that’s my favourite part!” he grins walking over to the tub. I smile at him as he kneels down next to me. “What’s wrong, Gee?”

    “Nothing.” I sink deeper into the water as if sliding away from his question. “Why do you ask?”

    “Because you always look like you’re about to punch someone, be it someone else or yourself.”

    “Well I’ll work on that.”

    He frowns and then leans across the tub to kiss me. I allow myself to get lost in his touch for a moment. I’ve been seriously suffering from kissing withdrawal. He pulls away and bends down to reach for the scrubber. “So I was considering,” he begins, “Maybe you could go on a romantic stroll through the gardens with one of the ladies tomorrow. It’s really beautiful this time of year and I think it would be good if you compared whichever lady it is to the beauty of the garden, you know? Have you chosen one you like better yes.”  
    “No,” I hiss.

    He pauses scrubbing my shoulder for a moment and then continues. “Okay, well maybe you should pick one soon. Focus on one, mainly. It’s more believable then.” He squeezes out the rag and then slowly rubs it across my shoulders and then collar bones.

    “I don’t want to pick one,” I say stiffly.

    Frank stops and scoots around to face me. “Gerard, I’m trying to help you.”

    “Have you just given up on Tyler making us okay?” I ask. Tyler had been working his ass off studying the bible for excuses since we got home. Meanwhile Frank has just been pushing me further and further into a courtly love affair.

   “Of course not,” he says. “But I don’t want us to lose our lives before he can. And if your uncle tries to bring this up, you’re going to want an alibi. A girl, I mean.”

   “I guess you’re right. I think I’ll focus on Eleanor, she’s older and I like how it pisses my uncle off.”

   “Good.” He moves over to the fire to put the cauldron over and then returns to put soap in my hair. “You know what I was also thinking,” he says as he messages my scalp. “Maybe I should hit on some of the lower class ladies.”

    “What?” I shoot up straight and turn to face him. Some of the water sloshes over the edge.

    “Only to make it look believable…”

    “No way. No way! No!”

    “Gee…”

    “Frank, no. You’re mine, I don’t want to share you. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.”

    “Gerard calm down, imagine if I acted like this,” he sighs.

    “I wish you would, but you don’t really give a shit.”

    “Gerard just shut the fuck up, okay. The only reason I see your interactions with those girls and don’t lose my shit is because I know it’s not real. Seriously. Get yourself the fuck together.” He walks over to the cauldron.

     I feel like punching something so I punch the water and splash it all over the ground. Frank sighs and walks over with the hot pot and dumps its contents over me.

    It’s scalding and I close my eyes against it. All of a sudden I feel Frank’s lips against mine. “You know what,” he mutters against my cheek after a moment.

    “What?”

    “I really need a wash.”

    “The waters still warm,” I begin to raise myself up. He sighs and pushes me down in the tub. Oh. _Oh._ He pulls his shirt off and I feel myself stiffen beneath the water already. I’m so pathetic. He grins at me and pulls his pants off. Completely naked, he folds his clothes and places them by the fire. Then he walks back toward me. I’m still not used to this whole _Frank being completely naked in front of me_ thing. He laughs and climbs into the bath with me. I may have said that out loud.

     He presses me back against the tub wall and kisses me hungrily as around us the water splashes out over the sides.

 

Eleanor and I turn a corner around a weird marble statue of the Virgin Mary. We’re trailed by three other ladies, my uncle, my brother, Frank, and Patrick. Eleanor is wearing a really low-cut blue silk dress, showing off most of her breasts. I nearly threw up when I saw the look on my uncle’s face when she came into my presence chamber.

    I wait till my uncle has caught up enough to see me, before I pick a white rose. I hold it up between us. “A rose,” I begin, “is said to be the most beautiful thing in nature. It grows, so pure, so elegant. And yet next to you it looks foul and rank.” My words are so fake and sweet they taste poisonous on my tongue, but they seem to work.

     Eleanor blushes deeply. I can see one of Eleanor’s companions swoon and my uncle raises his eyebrows. “My lord is too kind to me,” she smiles, “Your tongue is as sweet as the scent of the flower.” She picks the flower from my hand and smells it with her eyes closed before releasing a quiet sigh. She bats her lashes at me from just above the rose. My uncle would be cumming himself if he were me right now. That thought is so disgusting makes me want to cry.

     Eleanor and I continue on through the garden until we come to the boules field.

     “Shall we have a game, your majesty?” My uncle suggests. I nod and escort Eleanor to the bench. There’s real no need but I think it looks better in front of my uncle than if I had just turned around to play with balls. I almost start laughing at my own thoughts.

 

I go to meet Tyler that night. I confess some sins that I make up on the spot to relieve his conscience, and then we discuss all that he’s found. “I think,” he says, “That we could make the case that the world has moved on.”

    “Yes?”

    “I mean, Leviticus 19:19 says you can’t wear to cloths of the same fabric. Which is something we now do. We have grown beyond it as was necessary.”  
    “That’s the same part that’s all about homosexuality. Could we make the case even just against Leviticus?”

     He looks horrified. “God, no, definitely not. No.” he blesses himself. “We can’t just discount an entire book from the word of God!”

     “Okay, sorry.”

     “Indeed.”

     _Jeez._ “So… what will you say.”

     “I am not nearly ready to speak about it yet, your majesty.”

     “Okay, when do you think?”

     “An Easter address? To the people?”

     “Easter? That’s in like April, and it’s August!”

     “Almost September.”

     “That doesn’t take away from the fact it’s August!” I begin to pace. “I don’t think I can wait that long. What if my uncle proves against me before then? Or worse, what if the only way I can escape that fate is by marrying Eleanor Woodrow?”

    “Oh no, we can’t have that my lord.”

    “Spot on observation.”

    “I can maybe be ready in time for Christmas… How would you feel about me enlisting some help?”

     “From who?”

     “Maybe a studious monk?”

     “Why?”

     “Just to get the perspective of someone even more familiar with the word of God than I.”

     “I thought the only one holier than you was the pope.”

     “You flatter me.”

     “No I’m serious.”

     He smiles proudly. “You can go ask some monks if you want but you can’t tell them why. Say you felt like it was against your Christian morality to condemn love in this way.”

    “But that is lying.”

    “No lying would be saying it was because you felt these tendencies yourself. Not telling the whole truth is saying that you believe there is a mistake.”

    “I guess you are correct.”

    “I often am.”

    I leave shortly after that in the calmest way I can. I don’t want to be rude to him which is what would happen if I stayed in that one on one state.

    Back in my chamber I’m greeted by Frank who was reading a children’s book. In his spare time, Pete had been helping him with his reading. He had been thought the basics as a child but was out of practice

     He puts down the book and lead into the antechamber where a new servant is sweeping around the fire. He’s about Frank’s age, with dark hair and, wow, a really handsome face. He bows to me. “I thought I told Josh I had enough servants,” I moan.

    “I know he just kinda appeared,” Frank sighed.

    “Your majesty,” the boy smiled, still bowing only now looking up at me from under dark lashes. He licks his lips. “What an honour it is to be in the presence of such an incredible man. And your face, in real life, is even more handsome than the paintings.”

     Frank takes a step forward and I put my hand on his arm. “You flatter me.”

     “I but speak my mind, your majesty. And my mind speaks that which my eyes see, and what my eyes see is man like no other.” Well this is a new level of flattery I haven’t heard before from my servants.

     “Thank you, boy. What is your name?”

     “Robert, your majesty.”

     “Where are you from?”

     “A farm north of the city.”

     “Welcome to the castle. I’m ready for bed now, Frank, attend me.” I walk toward my room. I’m almost at the door when I notice Frank didn’t follow me. His fists are clenched and he’s glaring at the new servant, who’s now on his knees facing me. This is a very weird scenario. The boy bats his eyes at me and then presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. That’s when Frank storms at him and knocks him over with a punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from the song "Drowning Lessons" which I have a fic named after btw)  
> Okay I am so sorry that this was so slow. I've just been insurmountably busy. My band and i had a gig and then a slot on the radio so we just spent the entirety of last week together working on it. It was a midterm (halfterm) break and i was only home once for more than an hour, and that was sunday. I'm going to try update more. This close to the end, you need regularity i guess to keep up tension. Thank you so much everyone who's read this and has stuck with it despite my awful absenteeism. Ily all very much,  
> XoE


	22. Did We All Fall Down

 

POV: Gerard

   

Frank was on edge that night when I sent him away. He finally acted the way I wished he would and now I see why he was trying not to. He broke the guy’s nose and then helped him up without a word and sent him with one of the other servants to his room upstairs.

     I’m sitting by the fireplace waiting for Frank in my bed chamber. He looks so guilty when he enters the room. There’s blood on his knuckles and on his chemise. “I…” He shakes his head. “The bastard sure did bleed a lot,” he attempts to grin and it ends up in him grimacing. “And his face really hurt to hit, my knuckles are sore as-”

     “You don’t have to keep talking,” I interrupt. He nods, sighing. He joins me in front of the unlit fire. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

     “No fucking shit, Gee.”

     “So what are we going to say?”

     “To who?”

     “Probably Josh. We can’t really call it an accident.”

     “Can we say he was making you very uncomfortable?”

     “Yes, I guess,” I look down. Frank’s eyes are way too intense right now. “Will you please wash your hands?”

    He jumps a little bit and then goes over to my wash basin. He pours a little water on one of his hands and washes it over the window sill. “How far off is Tyler?”

    “Easter…”

    “Easter?!” he looks horrified. “We’re fucking dead.”  
    “No we’re not.”

    “Oh my god we are,” he turns his face into the wall, “I just fucking killed us.”  
     “You just punched a man, it’s okay, people do it the whole time,” I walk toward him and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

     “No, no it is not. You know that boy was only here to provoke a reaction like this out of me. I bet he’s gone to your uncle right now to let him know. Fuck, oh no.” he bangs his head off the wall and I have to pull him away. He leans back into me as I wrap my arms around him, keeping him from hurting himself. “Your uncle is probably learning of this right now.”

     I wince. He’s right. We’re dead. “Fuck it, go get Patrick.”  
    “What, why?”

    “I’m going to ask how a king goes about asking a woman to marry him.”

    “No you’re not.” He wiggles out of my arms which I forgot were around him. “You can’t yet. Not straight after the incident. We need to make it look as if you’re just doing this anyway. And that I just happened to break your servants’ face.”

    “Yea I guess.”

    “So instead, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to court Eleanor every day for the next week and a half. I’ll hit on the seamstress that’s arrived with her. She’s the only one around my class that isn’t like forty.” He looks uncomfortable with that fact. “Or I could maybe put that off for a while if you want,” I nod, “okay. Well you need to make a good connection with lady Woodrow. Also do you think you can consummate the marriage?”

    My jaw drops open. “Okay, sorry,” Frank says and then sighs. “This could be difficult then.”

    “You think?”

 

The next week is kinda fucking awful. I spend entire days away from Frank and in the company of my whole fucking court, or Lady Eleanor. She’s very nice and sweet, as she’s been told to be, and every now and again, deeply flirtatious. It’s like every day her breasts get pushed farther up in her bodice in a way that can’t be comfortable.

    I catch myself looking at their impractical perch every so often and if it makes her uncomfortable she doesn’t show it. I don’t mean to do it but I guess that helps my attempt to look like I’m attracted to her.

    Over the past week if I’ve noticed anything it’s that Eleanor is very clever. Her relatives may be battle strategists but she’s kinda like the commander who is able to take their orders and then mould them to every situation. I really even feel sorry for her for the way I’m using her. Frank said it was like I’m the fisherman and she was the catch of the day.

     However something tells me she doesn’t really long for me the way she’d have me believe. I think it’s all an act and really that just makes things easier.

    It’s been exactly one week since Frank broke that new guys’ nose and for some reason I can’t get him relocated. Every time I bring it up with Josh he brushes it off and turns away so after four attempts I just leave it. He’s quiet now but still looks at me flirtily every now and again and it causes Frank to ball up his fists so hard his knuckles turn white.

    The tension and stress in the air is just so thick I feel like it could be choking everyone.

    But it’s not. It’s only choking me.

    I’m currently sitting in the great hall with Eleanor to my right. Mikey is on my left and he’s talking casually with myself and Eleanor like everything’s okay and we’re all part of a happy family. Next to him my uncle is glaring at his food. He looks over at us so I lean in to Eleanor and whisper, “would you like to be the harvest queen?” It’s innocent enough but she blushes just enough to make my uncle storm out of the room. This is the reaction I was always hoping to get out of Frank before he broke the servant’s nose. That realisation is fucking disturbing.

     I feel like all this teasing is dangerous but I really am saving Eleanor. No one would try and sleep with the queen, I think. And she would have more status than my uncle so she could say no very easily.

     Once the food has been cleared I call Patrick over. Some of the ladies begin dancing. I haven’t seen so much life in the court since Christmas. Even the usual Easter celebrations were dampened by the fact everyone was dying. At least we can celebrate the harvest next week the way we always do. “Patrick, talk to Josh about appropriate measures for a grand ball to celebrate the harvest will you? Then meet me tonight. And bring Josh and Tyler and my uncle with you.” He blinks sheepishly before muttering about how big an honour it is or something.

    I take Eleanor to the dancefloor and we dance for an hour. My feet are sore by the time I make my way to my chamber after a formal goodbye to Eleanor that hopefully looked romantic. Eleanor leaves in a flurry of ladies. One of which, Anne, looks so pissed. Her father had her pinned for me, as well as every other young lady’s father. I guess she took it specifically sourly though, because whenever I’m with Eleanor she looks like she’s after chewing on a lemon. Sometimes Eleanor even smiles apologetically at her but that just makes Anne angrier. I would not like to hear the discussions in the ladies’ towers.

     In my room Frank and Tyler are already there. Frank was probably confessing his mortal sins as Tyler gives him penitence. “Tyler,” I address him as soon as I enter the room, no one else is here yet so I must ask. “If I marry someone but don’t consummate the marriage what does that mean for the marriage?”

    “Oh, um, it means it can be found void.”

    “Does that mean that if I marry a lady, never consummate it, and then you give address about, ehem,” I lower my voice, “the homosexual… thing, I will be able to stop being married to that lady. And she will be free to marry again as will I?”

    “Theoretically?”

    “That makes everything a little easier.”

    Frank smiles encouragingly at me and Tyler just looks around confusedly. “I’ll explain in a moment, when everyone else arrives.” Tyler just nods. Were this a play, everyone else would enter exactly now. But I’m glad they don’t so I’m pretty sure they did not hear anything.

    Minutes later Patrick enters with all the people I asked for. They take various places around the table as if this was a meeting of the Privy Council. I remain standing because I know my uncle’s going to say something that will make me pace. “I have gathered you all here this evening to discuss a matter of great importance with you. And that is the matter of this kingdom getting a queen. No doubt you have noticed my great… affections for Lady Woodrow and I would like to make an official connection. I have asked her to be the harvest queen for next week’s harvest festivals. And during the final day of the three day festival, I wish to ask for her hand in marriage.”

     Josh looks nervous. Probably because he has to now organise an engagement worthy festival over the next four days. Patrick has a tear in his eye, _too early for that_ I think. My uncle looks like he’s about to strangle me. I fucking wish he would, then I could lock him up for treason. Instead he just sits there with white knuckles.

    “I’m not just informing you of this but I need advice, I have no idea how to go about this.”

    “You will have to ask her father in advance,” my uncle says through gritted teeth.

    “Frank, go get lord Woodrow, please,” I say without breaking eye contact with my uncle. I feel Frank leaving the room and then begin pacing. “I’ll ask him now. Then how do I ask _her_?”

    “You don’t,” my uncle replies again. “You ask her father. Mention it to her at some point. And then announce it.”

     “Thank you for your excellent guidance, uncle,” I smile at him and then begin pacing. “Josh, how big can we make this festival?”

     “As big as you like, your majesty?”

     “No, I mean, realistically.”

     He frowns at his hands which are folded on the table. “If we send out invitations tomorrow, we can probably ready a tournament, feast, and water demonstrations?”

    “More than sufficient,” I smile at him and he relaxes a little. “Patrick, will you help Josh with the inviting of everyone worthwhile?” Patrick nods. Josh nods. Suddenly everyone in the room is nodding. The weird vibes that this causes only stops when Frank enters the room with Eleanor’s father. He drops to his knees immediately.

     “Stand up, Lord Woodrow,” I say calmly. “I would like to speak with you about your daughter.” His eyes shine. “I would like to make her the queen of this kingdom. Do I have your blessing to do so?”

    “Your majesty, you have my greatest blessings. You do my family a great honour.”

    I nod, “And I would like to offer you a place on my Privy Council, if you wish.”

    He smiles “Your majesty is too kind.”

    “Sweetened by love for your daughter,” I think he’s going to feint with delight. Frank sees him out when he’s finished thanking me. “Oh and Woodrow, mention it not to your daughter, I’d like to ask her myself, you understand?”

     “Oh but of course, your majesty.”

     Everyone leaves in dribs and drabs thereafter. I wish they’d all go at once. I tell Patrick to begin thinking about invitees when he leaves. He took that as his queue. I send Frank after Mikey. For some reason my uncle wouldn’t leave until I told him he looked exhausted and should go and sleep. “It is the ways you run the kingdom that exhaust me so,” he explains before leaving. Why the fuck does he think he can talk to me like that?

    “Because he still sees you as but his nephew, your majesty.” The voice makes me jump. I thought everyone had left.

    “Robert! I did not see you there.”

    “Oh sorry, my lord,” he says taking a step toward me. His hands are behind his back and he’s looking down. The broken nose interrupts his boyish beauty and makes him look a little older and more mature.

    I take a step backwards away from him.

    “Have I offended you with my silence? Or was it my speaking,” he smirks faintly, “because I can be as loud or as quiet as you want.”

    I’m caught for words. “Or,” he says slowly, he’s really close to me now, “You don’t have to order me around, if you prefer to take a break from that.” He bites his lip. I take more steps backward until I hit the table. I should say something. “Your silence confuses me, your majesty, what would you like me to do?”

     I clear my throat. I need to say something. Something any other man would say. “Your job. I would like you to do that.”

    He smiles again. I wish he’s frown or something because his smile reminds me too much of Frank’s when he gets this close. “I’m quite a skilled worker. More a craftsman than a floor sweeper. I am good with my hands, like a carpenter. Would you like to see?”

     “No I would not,” I choke out. I feel trapped. Where’s Frank with Mikey? Why won’t anyone walk in on me _this_ time?

     “Indeed a good craftsman can use more than just his hands,” he says and then licks his lips. He reaches his hand down and presses his hand against his pants, showing the extent of how stiff he has grown. I try not to look down. His face is even worse to look at. He bites his lip and then pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek and winks.

    “Okay,” I say and sidle around him, “enough. Please just go make my bed or something.”  
    “It’s already made, but we could mess it up a bit?”

    I shake my head. “Please stop this.”

    “Is it too much for you, your majesty?”

    “Yes!”

    “I believe what’s in your pants may disagree with your mouth,” he says, slowly edging towards me again.

     Finally the door swings open and Mikey walks in, swiftly followed by Frank. Robert bows and backs into the shadows. Frank glares. “Mikey, hi, I would like to tell you something.”  
    “Yes?”

    “I’m going to ask Eleanor to marry me.”

     “Oh.”

     “Yes.”

     “How come?”

     “Because I… love her?”

     Mikey glances over at Robert. “Servant, go get a fine wine from the cellar for the king and I. We need to celebrate. Three cups, please.” Robert nods and strides from the room. We walk through to the inner presence chamber before Mikey exclaims, “What the fuck?”

     “I have to, uncle will otherwise have my head. And worse, Frank’s!”

     “But… When you marry her, you will be committing adultery, as well as sodomy. That’s a lot of stuff the bible hates.”

    “I was talking to Tyler, the archbishop, and he said if I don’t consummate the marriage we’re technically not married.”

    He frowns. “I don’t understand you, Gee.”

    “There’s not that much to understand, Mikey. I’m your big brother and I don’t want to die yet.”

    “I don’t want you to die yet, either.”

     I can’t help but smile. Look at that, my brother not hating me. “Well I thought I’d let you know anyway. I’ll see you in the afternoon?”

    “You’re not trying to send me off are you?”

    “Well I assumed you’d want to leave?”

    “Um, I just ordered fine wine. You can fuck off if you think I’ll leave without some.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chaper Title from "Desert Song")  
> Hi my darlings! Okay this was slow and I'm sorry. I stayed off school today and i planned on writing this and some but ended up watching fight club and then doing my art home work so i only just managed to write this. I'm very sorry.  
> Also excuse this bit of shameless self-promotion but if you would like, like only if you'd like to, you can like my band's fb page https://www.facebook.com/officialpreachelectric/ . We'd really appreciate it (Plus there's a link to a podcast of us playing if you'd like to have a listen...  
> Anyway, shameless self promotion aside, thank you so so much for reading this weird gay story of mine. Thank you especially to everyone who's left kudos and/or one of those many hecka nice comments. You're all so sweet!!  
> XoE

**Author's Note:**

> (Chapter title from the song "Mama")  
> Okay so I'm getting back into writing fics! This one is more serious than the bandom hogwarts drabbles... It's a story I've wanted to write for a while and i was thinking the other day and realised that Frerard fit the bill perfectly. I'll try update as often as i can!


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